I Will Always Return
by Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure
Summary: First Legolas was captured, but Aragorn couldn’t remain behind. Both are eventually seized and tormented, blindsided by an unthinkable treachery, and doing their best to stave off death and not crack under the abuse. But things get even more complicated..
1. I'm Your Shadow

**Title: **

_I Will Always Return_

(formerly known as "The Edge of the World")

**Authors :**

Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure

**Rated:**

PG-13 or T

**Summary:**

First Legolas was captured, but Aragorn couldn't remain behind. Both are eventually seized and tormented, blindsided by an unthinkable treachery, and doing their best to stave off death and not crack under the abuse. But things get even more complicated when newers plans are made to sell Legolas to a special customer while at the same time keeping Aragorn as an assurance for the Elf's compliance. With no intention of keeping Aragorn alive after the deal is complete, time is priceless if they are to both come out of this alive and return to the homes they had formerly abandoned. If they survive, there is a chance that Rivendell and Mirkwood can be regenerated, if not, they will be no more than a memory, along with their inhabitance. **Sequel to "Masquerade". **

**Disclaimer:**

Ay! We have to go through this again! Here goes…Well, we do not own anything from the "Lord of the Rings" or any other work done by J.R.R. Tolkien. However, we have created numerous O.C.'s that we would like to keep as strictly ours. If you want to use then in a fic and ask (as well as receive) permission that's fine but other than that, don't kidnap them, they don't appreciate it and neither do we! LOL We also would like to point out that we are not getting paid to write this piece of work and wouldn't accept any money anyway. It is strictly for the enjoyment of the readers and of course, ourselves. As you read through "I Will Always Return" please try not to be overly critical. If you have something constructive to criticize be our guests but flames are really not worth your time or ours. They don't solve anything.

**This is naturally still taking place at the time when Aragorn became fond of using the alias _Thorongil_ in Rohan and Gondor. We have based this story on a few combined parts in the _book Two Towers _that state Sauron once offered money to the people of Rohan for their black horses and was turned down, thus being forced to commit atrocious raids to capture the animals for his dark uses. This would have happened around this time and off and on until the War of the Ring, as far as we can reckon it.**

**We have also heard many contradictory things about Thengel and about when his rule began and ended. Some say it ended the year Thorongil retired his alias and returned home, and to Lorien for his visit with Arwen (i.e. –Thengel died). However, other hints have been dropped that during Aragorn's ride in Rohan Théoden was but a small child, and therefore, incapable of claiming the thrown. We tend to follow this line for the story's convenience as well as probability. When Aragorn's ventures were in Rohan, we can find no record. If this is not the case, feel free to kindly tell us, but try to enjoy the story for what it is and excuse the error. **

**One last theme we would like to address, is that we drop hints of Saruman's twisting nature throughout this whole story. We would only like to explain this once, so please listen. _Sharky_ and _Saruman_ are one in the same! Okay? Okay. Supposedly, during this time, is when he established his home as being at Isengard. Again, if there is an error, we are sorry, please try to tell us and then overlook it for the sake of the story line. ;) **

**Also, in the creation of this story we purposefully left out the parts about Rivendell, Mirkwood, Thranduil, Elrond, and Lothlorien. However, it has a purpose! Don't burn us yet! (barricades up in closet as a precaution) We thought it would be interesting to almost literally put you in Legolas and Aragorn's ( as well as the twins) shoes so that your emotions should be close to theirs as far as surprise and trauma goes when they actually do return home. We were simply trying to make the story more real, which is why reviews will be very helpful. We would like to know what you think and if you think this little experiment is working. **

**(sigh) That was a novel in and of itself, yes? **

* * *

**Additional Authors' Notes**

You can find the picture for this particular tale on our site, which the URL is on our bio page. This is one in our ever-growing 'Faith, Hope and Love' series.

It includes:

_**Reflections,**_

_**All That's Left of Yesterday,**_

_**The Folly of Men**_

_**Masquerade**_

_**&**_

_**Ripples**_

**Please review! Thank you! **

* * *

_I Will Always Return_

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**CHAPTER ONE**

I'm Your Shadow 

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Green, rich rolling hills barely touched with the golden red light of a setting sun sprang before the friends as they strode into the green country of Rohan, a place of refuge and safety. Legolas inhaled deeply, his lungs absorbing all they could of the rich ambrosia that drifted and filled the air. Sighing, the prince looked at Aragorn with shimmering eyes that hadn't been that jovial in some time. It brought a smile to Aragorn's face.

"I never thought I would see anything this glorious again!" declared the prince, springing forward and feeling the ground beneath his feet absorb the impact with the thick, matted grass.

After being in the desert and cities for months this was a welcome change. Still grinning from ear to ear the Elf began to hum a tune Aragorn did not know and he began to run through the rich grass, brushing its long tops with the tips of his fingers as his spirits rose to heights that made him want to soar with the birds.

Grinning to himself, Aragorn laughed and called out cheerfully, "enjoy yourself _Elf_, I'll take care of making camp." In all honesty he hadn't felt this splendid in a long time and he breathed deeply of the clean and peaceful air.

Legolas appeared not to hear him, though Aragorn doubted it, and the Elf pranced a few minutes longer without giving any acknowledgement to the ranger's statement. He could still hear the prince singing happily and he actually burst out in laughter as the Elf dropped and rolled and in the deep vegetation.

Sprawled out in the moist grass, Legolas' eyes were almost glazed with pleasure and he closed them, imagining that he was in nothing but peace as he thought the West might be. Healing had been fine in Gondor but people had been curious about an Elf and he hadn't really had time to rest. Even kept secret by the Healers, some how, everyone had found out about the special guest. He had done his best to help Aragorn get his discharge papers as quickly as possible and then, after saying their farewells to the men, the two had left as quickly as possible.

Reopening his bleary orbs, the prince sighed contentedly and stared up at the stars that were peeping out from their hiding places during the day. The purplish-orange color of the sky was just marvelous and he gazed it at for a good ten minutes, allowing his body to relax against the spongy grass that left no footprints even from Aragorn's boots.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called out, laughing as he bounded through the grass to try and find his friend. "I don't want to step on you!" He teased, leaping over the Elf without realizing it. The prince blended in perfectly with the green foliage and a wicked smile began to pull at his lips.

Suddenly Aragorn fell to the ground, Legolas' hand gripping his boot and a guilty grin growing on the Elf's glowing face. Surprise fluttered briefly across Aragorn's features as he understood what Legolas had done and came down, sprawled across the Elf. Legolas tensed for moment, obviously not anticipating the human falling across him but then he just grinned.

"At least I found you," grumbled the ranger, annoyed once more with the Elven reflexes his friend possessed simply because they were used to his disadvantage. Leaning back against the Elf's chest that rose and fell as the prince breathed, Aragorn sighed. "I could have stomped right on your face!"

Legolas just chuckled. "I think not, Strider. Judging from the way things are, my reflexes were superior to yours."

Aragorn snorted incredulously and sat up, glaring down at his friend, who was smiling contagiously. "Admit it! You never meant for me to fall on you!"

Legolas was too happy to argue and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply once more. "Very well, perhaps I didn't." He crossed his ankles leisurely and put his hands behind his head as Aragorn pushed himself off and brushed his clothes clean with his hands.

"Well, when ever you are finished rolling the grass like an Elfling, camp is set and we should get around a fire when it is dark. Rohan borders Mordor and we had best not forget that," he reminded the prince, who seemed to be only halfway listening.

"You were rolling in the grass yourself," Legolas pointed out with a sloppy grin as a cocked a brow and glanced the human's way. He deliberately chose to ignore the comment considering their proximity to Mordor.

"Because you tripped me," Aragorn argued lightly, unable to resist a small smile.

"And it was funny," snorted the Elf as he tried to contain his laughter and finally lost the battle as a drawn out chuckle nearly sent his body into convulsions.

Aragorn just shook his head; too tired to argue when he knew he was going to lose it anyway. Raising his hands, palms towards the Elf as a sign of surrender he muttered under his breath, "Sindar Elves."

"Clumsy humans," murmured the prince softly as he allowed himself to sink further into the spongy blades, becoming quite comfortable and less willing to move.

It would have been very easy for Aragorn to start up the argument once more and spark a screaming debate but he knew that Elves were not only as merry as children at times but just about as stubborn and he was not in the frame of mind to argue against someone that bull headed right about now. Rolling his eyes, he began to head back towards their camp, looking over his shoulder once to ensure Legolas wasn't sneaking along behind to try some potentially alarming stunt.

Smiling as he realized the Elf was still lying in the grass and singing about times when things were less dark and the stars more bright, Aragorn turned his face back towards the east and to where there camp face. Unfortunately, he could still see Mordor's smoldering darkness and flickering lights of evil flame that couldn't really be called 'light'.

Shuddering as he remembered crossing even closer to that forbidding land to get here and how Legolas had hardly spoken a word and barely dared to breathe so close to the evil influence, Aragorn felt slightly frustrated that he could still see it from here. And he had noticed in his travels that it seemed to be stretching closer and closer to his friends and family, though he was certain it would be another few years at least before Sauron decided to put any plan into action. And even if it wasn't growing, it seemed to follow you some how, like a painting with "shifting" eyes.

Sighing dejectedly as these dark premonitions and thoughts all but ruined this peaceful moment, Aragorn slumped down by the pile of kindling and a few thicker branches he had put together for a merry little fire. Drawing his dagger and a peace of small flint from his boot, the ranger drew the flint quickly in a sweeping motion over the dagger's blade, sharpening it and creating a spark to light the fire with all at once.

He was pleased when the spark landed and caught rather quickly with a crackle and a pop before it began to spread. Little red tongues of flame began to lick at the wood and soon the red flowers of flame ensnared it as well. An eerie glow consumed the darkness in a fairly large circle around it and Aragorn looked up at the stars, lying on his back with his hands behind his head.

He smiled as he saw how bright they were, not wholly touched by the shadow stretching out from Mordor's dark confines. Legolas must be thoroughly enjoying himself. Drawing out his pipe, Aragorn sat up long enough to fill it and light it and then layback again into the naturally supportive and yet giving grass.

He had not been able to do this in a long time.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn drew in a deep puff and let it off into the night air, letting it swirl and dance away to mingle with the thin layer of mist settling all around, dampening the night world.

Before long he heard a soft voice next to him chide gently, "that's a filthy habit, you know."

Cocking an eye brow and raising his head to look at the smiling Elf seated next to him, Aragorn muttered. "Oh, I don't know, I think that getting drunk out of your mind when you are an _Elf_ is a pretty disgusting thing myself."

Legolas just glared at the slur and retorted a bit testily, "I was younger and was dared."

Aragorn rested his head again and blew a puff of smoke before answering; causing the Elf to lie down as well, just to escape it. "No need to take it so personal, Legolas, I said _an_ Elf, not a _prince_." He couldn't help but chuckle at the indignant look creeping across Legolas' face.

"Well I think smoking has an acquired taste," Legolas answered, idly flicking some grass from his stomach.

"That's because you never tried it," Aragorn prompted, looking side ways towards his friend with a daring grin.

"I have so," the prince lied smoothly, not looking in Aragorn's direction.

"Well then, here," he handed Legolas the pipe before the Elf could have time to respond. "Show me how."

The Elf scowled so darkly Aragorn nearly scooted back a bit, seeing the irritated twinkle become a little stronger. Then Legolas shrugged nonchalantly, "well apparently I don't need to, you already know how." He smiled and tried to hand the pipe back but Aragorn raised his hands in rejection.

"Well then prove to me you can," he challenged, watching as Legolas grinned and shook his head in objection.

"Estel, you are acting like a child," the Elf chided, trying to force the pipe back into the ranger's hands as they withdrew to his pockets. "This is stupid."

"No it isn't," Aragorn differed, his eyes twinkling as the firelight caught them. "If you can do it, prove it and I will leave you alone about it."

Glowering like a soaked cat, Legolas put the end of the pipe in his mouth and threatened around it, "I will kill you for this." His tone was dead and completely serious as he drew in a small breath through the pipe and his mouth, not knowing exactly how this would work but imagining he wouldn't like the results.

His glare only deepened as Aragorn's face glowed with amusement.

Legolas' eyes began to water against his will and he pulled the pipe from his mouth, practically tossing it to Aragorn who caught it as he gagged and sputtered, smoke spewing out of his mouth. Finally coughing and rocking back, the Elf managed between gasps for air, "I…said I would…kill you for this." He was slowly getting to his feet, swaying, as he felt a bit light headed.

Aragorn just grabbed his wrists and pulled him back down, shaking his head in mirth when the Elf didn't resist and fell into the grass all but backward. Aragorn just patted his back with a reassuring hand as he inspected his pipe with the other. "A good effort on your part. So Rothinzil never taught you how to smoke?"

Legolas put aside his irritation and laughed a little. "Well, I don't think it ever crossed his mind and now I am sure Helluin has broken him of _that_ habit." He snickered some more and then fell silent, his breathing becoming deep and slow as he began to feel a bit sleepy.

"Well don't worry, we are within a day's journey of your home and you can find that clumsy Elf and ask him yourself," Aragorn pointed out, relaxing beside his friend, who had stretched out on the grass and was idly staring at the heavens and shifting mists.

Realizing Legolas was being abnormally quiet, the human emptied his pipe and staunched the little red embers before returning it to his bag and then asked softly, "Legolas is something wrong?" He sat up and crossed his legs before him, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his chin in his hands, staring curiously at his friend.

A firefly flew and landed gently on Legolas' nose and the prince sat up abruptly, brushing it off. Glancing at Aragorn from the corner of his eye before frowning disconcertedly, the Elf found a way to put into words his fears. "It's been so long since I've been home." He shifted uneasily and then added ashamedly, "I don't know what to expect, really. After all, it's been two and a half years."

Aragorn looked sympathetically at his friend and frowned. He could certainly identify. He hated to even imagine the pain he must have caused his brothers and his adoptive father. It was just unthinkable and he couldn't count the times he had prayed they would understand.

A mutual silence passed between the two friends as they turned things silently over in their heads. It was as though they knew each other's thoughts and though things were left unsaid that was all right, because they didn't need words.

"Well let's try and get some rest for tomorrow," Aragorn suggested softly, closing his eyes and deciding he was too tired and this grass was comfortable enough, his bedroll needn't come out tonight.

Legolas tried to sleep, leaving his eyes open as Elves naturally did, but he could find no rest and shifted uneasily. The ground seemed to be thundering in his ears and he had about a thousand worries pounding through his head. He kept imagining horses and would doze off into a light sleep and then wake with a start.

After hearing the Elf toss, turn and fidget for a half hour, Aragorn raised his head and asked drowsily, "Is something wrong?" Obviously there was but he was far too weary to think of another question that would be subtler and make more sense.

Legolas shook his head miserably and muttered, "I just can't find any rest." And that was putting it rather nicely. He felt provoked by some encroaching evil sneaking through the velvet of the night and that combined with his own personal and perhaps groundless fears was enough to drive him to distraction and get his adrenaline started. Since Harad and the troubles of war his reflexes had been easily tipped off.

"Well obviously," Aragorn muttered dryly. This wasn't abnormal since they had left Minas Tirith and he wasn't surprised when the Elf stretched and stood up a bit wearily, stating a walk might help. Legolas had taken to being alone most nights now and coming back shortly before dawn. And the closer they got to home the worse it had gotten. Aragorn attributed it to Legolas' homecoming anxieties.

Otherwise the prince tossed and turned all night and he had learned that a grumpy ranger kept awake all night was worse in the morning.

"Be careful," Aragorn reminded cautiously, eyeing Legolas as the Elf gathered up his weapons and began out into the tall sea of grass.

Legolas smiled thinly and answered, "of course." But Aragorn could tell that small smile was a cloak Legolas was attempting to use as a ruse to hide his depression and fears. It was no good asking about it because Legolas would go into a case of open denial, which could possibly be worse.

Wading out into the tall vegetation, Legolas walked until he was about twenty yards away and then he stood still for a moment, his eyes wandering to the stars and twinkling brightly with their perfect reflections. Sighing heavily, the Elf dropped to the ground and setting aside his quiver, he lay on his back, concealed from the world.

He knew Aragorn knew he was afraid of returning home, but he didn't want to talk to the ranger about it and in truth, he didn't want to think about it. He had gone out into the wide world to war with Aragorn and thought he had known himself but found out there was a darker side he still didn't understand. It was disconcerting and he felt fear of falling grip his heart, squeezing it. Some nights he wondered if he weren't turning colder and falling from the path that he had always walked in the light. It felt like there was an evil inside him that was eating away at his soul, darkening it.

Aragorn lay in the grass, though he was finding that with Legolas out in the dark rest was not easy in coming if it decided to come at all. They were bordering too close to Mordor for comfort, even though they lay in lush greenery. Unable to rest, the man sat up and looked for Legolas' silhouette against the bright night sky set against the black of the barren land of Mordor.

Sighing, he opened his mouth to call out to the Elf, but closing it, thought better of the idea. If Legolas needed some down time then he wouldn't interfere even though he was feeling rather alone. But he wondered if Legolas had felt alone, lost in his shadow. The Elf had followed him ceaselessly; doing half the deeds he got the undesired credit for. Did Legolas ever feel cold in his shadow?

It was his fault Legolas had been through so much in just three short years. In those tree years many things had changed and he was beginning to wonder if the pain and horror of all they had seen, the destructive side of men at its worst, had warped Legolas' sensitive Elven heart. He was already leery of men and he hoped this hadn't tipped the scales. He had felt Legolas tense under him when he fell on the Elf and it wasn't out of mere surprise.

Legolas was contented walked in the grass, looking up at the stars and their blazing radiance that dazzled the dark sky. Frowning, his sharp Elven ears picked up the sounds of horses and grass crackling beneath feet, but peering out into the thick mists settling on the land and the velvety darkness, he could see nothing.

Experience told him not to pass it off as nothing but he was so tired of being suspicious and everything here seemed so perfect. He could see the first rows of trees from Mirkwood. He was almost home. It would be a cruel twist of fate should some new devilry spring from the grass.

Aragorn jerked as he sat on the ground, feeling it vibrate under his palms in methodical way. He had felt this feeling before, many times, and here of all places he knew he shouldn't be surprised. There were horses, many galloping nearly in step with one another. But why they were out this late at night was beyond him and he frowned disconcertedly.

Once more he thought of calling to Legolas, this time as a warning. But if his friend was hidden from view and if this was a danger, then he wouldn't reveal him no matter how much he wanted him by his side. Shaking his head, there was no question in his mind that his small fire had been what had gravitated the riders here. He had let go of his habit of wariness too easily and should have known better.

Reaching to his side, Aragorn grasped his sword hilt lightly, trying to keep himself from tensing up and wasting energy. His gray eyes caught the firelight and glittered like silver, as he looked from their corners, not moving. He wasn't sure if these riders knew he was aware of them or not but if they didn't it gave him a small advantage.

As the riders pulled up into the firelight, almost without Aragorn realizing they were about to do so, the ranger sprang up, brandishing his sword in one swift motion and taking no more chances. War had taught him well and he knew that one small mistake could cost you more than you had to give. Glaring indignantly at the men on the snorting and pawing horses, the ranger kept his silence.

The attire of the riders was that of clothing customary to the Rohirrim. He took in the tassels of white horse hair on two of the rider's helmets and the richly plated gold helmet of another, who was looking practically through him with a set of clear but suspicious gray eyes. These were no thieves or vagabonds, but Riders of the Mark and well regarded ones at that. Relinquishing his sword as a sign of peace, sheathing it, he held his hands up, palms towards the riders.

Continuing to remain quiet, he was wise enough to know it was better for them to speak first. They were about as proud as the Elves.

"What do you seek in our lands under cover of night?" asked one of the riders with a white horse tail in his helmet's top, a brilliant white crest that flowed in the breeze. The dark incredulity of his voice could not be mistaken for anything else except maybe contempt.

Usually they were not this one edge and Aragorn wondered what had provoked them to such suspicion.

Speaking slowly and keeping his hands raised, being as peaceable as possible, Aragorn gave a short answer. "I am traveling home from Gondor and must cross your lands." His voice was respectful but tense.

The rider said nothing at first, but looked to the man in the gold plated helmet with images of silver as well as a white horse tail. They all seemed to exchange cold and curious glances before the officer answered sternly. "What deeds brought you to Gondor?"

Aragorn felt the barb of the interrogation and did his best to remain humble for the moment. "I helped in the defeat of the Haradrim." He decided this answer was better than no answer and it was the truth anyway, whatever they chose to believe.

Their grim expressions didn't change and in fact, seemed to be carved in stone.

Things were suddenly interrupted as a commotion behind them pulled everyone's attention away from the cornered ranger and the grave situation. But it didn't mean that anything had _improved_.

An indignant but muffled grunt made Aragorn wince as he realized they had managed to collect Legolas. He was being jerked and shoved between the horses and was cast disdainfully into the firelight, a small red line at his throat, dangerously close to the jugular showing exactly the manner of his capture. A small amount of blood trickled down the prince's neck, staining his light colored undershirt with a bit of dark red.

His breathing and the way his hands were subconsciously against this stomach showed he had been roughed up before they had managed to temporarily subdue him and Aragorn felt an unexpected anger towards these people. Legolas might not have received such harsh treatment were he not an Elf; even though to their credit Aragorn had to admit that if he hadn't been so stubborn he might have been a little better off as well.

The anger blazing in Legolas' blue eyes as they caught the orange flame of the small fire was hot and fierce. The way his hair was tussled slightly on his head showed where his quiver had been yanked over his head and his weapons confiscated. Aragorn was surprised the men had achieved this so easily and he stared at the Elf hard for a second, assessing him for anymore serious injuries. Finding none, the ranger remained puzzled.

Aragorn jerked slightly as he felt the cold tickle of a spear beside his ear; just below his temple and his eyes followed the other spears leveled for his head, but were concentrating strongly on Legolas. The Elf didn't even flinch as one of the razor sharp spearheads tickled under his ear and brushed under his chin, nearly creating another crimson line. But his angered eyes became a little more virulent and his lips pressed themselves into a thin line as he did when he was angered.

The two scouts who had apparently been accountable for Legolas' capture and man handling crept between the horses, one clutching a wounded and bloodied arm to his chest and kindling death in his eyes. The second one just glared, holding Legolas' confiscated weapons and sporting a blackening eye.

"Well this gets more interesting," said the Rohirrim officer who had done the interrogating moments earlier. "Men, we are in the presence of an Elf." He allowed his spear to travel and flick the slender tips of Legolas' ears lightly, making the Elf withdraw at the abrupt movement.

The esteemed rider in the golden helm silenced the others with a raised hand and rode more into the circle of dim firelight. His gray eyes trained themselves on the Elf in question and he half smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "And the folk traveling through our land becomes stranger…tell me, did He send you here Himself, Elf?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes and answered thickly. "And just who do you think sent me?" None of this was making any sense but it never did because the truth never mattered. He was an Elf and seemed to garner suspicion any time he left one of the Elven Realms. Frustration seethed from his lithe form and his hands clenched so the fingernails bit slightly into the skin of his palm. Aragorn started to move protectively closer to his friend but was stopped by a spear nipping at his throat.

Aragorn finally decided he had seen enough and he was not going to stand for this needless prejudice and prodding. He could tell that Legolas was getting angry and he didn't want his friend to get hurt. Gritting his teeth and steeling his eyes, the ranger pushed aside the cold prick of the spears, shoving himself between Legolas and the venerated rider. "Enough is enough!" he shouted at all the men, irritated. "I am Thorongil and this Elf is my companion. Long have we labored for the good of Gondor and all Middle Earth!"

The men seemed taken aback, though Aragorn wasn't sure if was a good thing or not and he stayed firmly by his friend's side. The determined and wrathful glower he was shooting everyone in turn made the Riders of the Mark uncomfortable and they shifted their gaze to look anywhere but at the bristling ranger.

That named, 'Thorongil' carried a lot of weight in their land. Anyone who hadn't heard of Thorongil and his victories deeds must have been living under a rock all their life. The golden helmed rider slipped his helmet from his head and nodded in respect for the captain of which the wind seemed to bear legend to. After his helm was removed in a sign of peace the other Riders followed his example, though somewhat grudgingly, and removed their spear points from the pair before them, simultaneously placing the large shafts at their sides.

Though Aragorn relaxed, Legolas remained stiffened and still leveled these men with a suspicious scowl, obviously thinking this was only a reprieve and Aragorn couldn't blame him. Aragorn placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder, giving him an assuring squeeze but Legolas rotated his shoulder coldly to remove his friend's grip. He wasn't angry with Aragorn, but the ranger was going to get a taste of his ill mood nonetheless. Right now, the Elf didn't want a human touching him, friend or not.

"Captain Thorongil," the head of the Riders exclaimed in serene reverence. "Your reputation precedes you." In a friendly gesture he dismounted before introducing himself as kindly as possible. "I am King Thengel, lord of Rohan and her people."

If Aragorn hadn't been concentrating on the situation and perturbed by Legolas' coldness he would have dropped his jaw in surprise. All the same he blinked disbelievingly before he gave a curt nod in reverence and replied almost breathlessly, "greetings, your majesty."

Turning to Legolas, preparing to make proper introductions, there was an odd silence as Aragorn wondered if Legolas wanted his real name used or at least his position withheld. These people were not evil but Legolas enjoyed his secrecy and judging from the cold and contemptuous look on his face he was already not on good terms with these men.

Deciding that he could anger Legolas either way, Aragorn gestured towards Legolas with a sweep of his arm, stepping aside so they could get a clear view of the Elf. "And this is my companion, Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm." He sighed inwardly; as he seemed to sense Legolas growing colder and his glow became slightly less bright though you could only tell if you knew him well.

The uninjured scout grudgingly handed Legolas back his weapons at a stern look from his liege. It was obvious that he wished to ram Legolas through with one of his own knives.

Thengel nodded to the Elf, who gave a small nod in return, knowing that would be what Aragorn would have wished and what was expected of him but he grudged it in his heart. He didn't trust these men, though he knew that if Aragorn seemed to trust them that should be enough. But his wounds from the past had rent deep scars on his heart and it was difficult to pour all his trust into something he hadn't confirmed himself. The cut on his throat smarted and he almost brought his hand up to see how much blood had trickled from it.

None of this was lost on Aragorn though Thengel seemed clueless and he asked, "How went the campaign in the south?" He was trying to be less cold and Aragorn decided that he could be cordial if all differences were set aside and they were all enemies of the One Enemy.

Aragorn frowned at the dark memories and then answered tiredly, unable to keep his sorrow out of his voice. "We had victory, nothing more." Legolas suddenly seemed sorrowful beside him and his guarded glance dropped to one of momentary pain that flickered across his face.

"Why do you not speak, Legolas?" Thengel asked, a bit warily, watching the Elf curiously as all the men were. They were not very trusting in the Elves and all had never set eyes on one before save the two dark-haired twins who hardly seemed like Elves at all at times.

Legolas' cold front immediately returned and his eyes edged with ice, fighting with his pride to do what Aragorn expected and be sociable to these people that had just knocked the wind out of him and taken his weapons without cause. He would have never attacked them if they hadn't stalked and attacked him first.

"I have nothing to say, your majesty," Legolas replied politely, refining his preferred answer just a little for show. "Captain Thorongil put things quite well and summed things up nicely, my lord." He cast a careful glance quickly at Aragorn before resuming eye contact with the Lord of Rohan.

Now it was Aragorn's turn to be annoyed. Legolas knew he hated to be called 'captain' and he had thought that title had been retired months ago. With that title came so much responsibility and attention, just like now and he withered a little inside as he realized what his destiny could bring. To be King he would be even more in the spotlight with more power –power he did not want and responsibility that would be like a millstone around his neck. There was no doubt that their little misadventure in Harad had been a milestone in his life, a real eye opener to the uglier part of power.

Legolas stepping inconspicuously on his foot to get his attention pulled Aragorn out of his thoughts.

"Captain Thorongil, would you care to ride to Edoras with us?" Thengel ventured cautiously, obviously fearing a negative response. His gray eyes bored into Aragorn's and he waited patiently for an answer.

"May I ask why?" the ranger replied warily, his eyes becoming slightly flinty. He had not seen his family in three years. He was tired and he feared another lengthy campaign. But if even the King of Rohan was abroad then there must be something big in the works and if they needed aid he couldn't very easily let his conscience rest and walk away.

Legolas felt dismay flood his heart but he concealed it with flinty eyes and an unfaltering gaze. He wanted to go home! His home, his father, his room, was all just a day away in the forest! This was the most frustrating thing in living memory and half of him wanted to scream, 'No! This isn't fair!' so that it echoed off the hills and rang in everyone's ears.

Thengel stiffened slightly, still not sure if he should trust these two. After all, what way was there to prove that this was Thorongil? And he had never trusted an Elf in his life, though that was mostly credited to the fact he had never been presented with a chance. "Captain, there are strange things abroad," he answered, obviously feeling like he had nothing to lose. "We were offered larges sums of currency for any black horses we could send to Mordor."

Aragorn visibly started and stared at the king inquiringly. What in all of Middle Earth would Sauron want with black horses?

Thengel continued once he had Aragorn undivided attention seconds later. "We refused the offer of course, but the Dark Lord has been incised to raids now, which his underlings make frequently. They take both slaves and horses." Crinkling his somewhat aged forehead, the King of Rohan sighed tiredly. "We would appreciate your help. We have already lost too many women and children."

Aragorn could feel Legolas looking at him darkly, obviously not approving of this new commission and wanting to get home as soon as possible. But Aragorn's thoughts drifted back to Harad and the children he had seen there and the devastation of those people. If he could prevent it here then that's what he had to do. Shrugging off the judgmental glare of Legolas, Aragorn nodded slowly.

"I will do what I can," his voice was soft and sounded absorbed in thought. He felt Legolas stiffen but didn't have time to talk to his friend as Thengel delivered instructions for Aragorn and Legolas' own good.

"Go to the village of Snowbourn, there you can get horses. Tell them I sent you and you will get no trouble, I promise," he assured before mounting his white stallion and replacing his helm back to his head. Looking at his riders, he waited patiently until they were all mounted. The two scouts on the ground glared daggers at Legolas and the one clutching his arm to his chest had death in his eyes.

"Where is Snowbourn, my lord?" Aragorn asked quickly, afraid Thengel would ride off and he would have no idea which direction to.

"West, near Edoras where you can meet us," Thengel replied brusquely. Turning his attention to his men he shouted so they could all hear, "we go west to Edoras!" His heels hit against his horse's sides and they riders all galloped past while the scouts spread apart and went off into the deep grasses.

"They will be trouble," Legolas tilted his head in the direction of the scouts. His eyes were narrowed and even though the men had left if was obvious he wasn't going to relax easily. "Estel," he addressed his friend who was cleaning up their camp as swiftly as possible. "We can't do this."

"Who said anything about 'we'?" questioned the man matter-of-factly, not even looking at the Elf walking by his side as he went about collecting pans, weapons and his pipe all littered about on the ground.

"Well you aren't going to do this by yourself are you?" Legolas asked incredulously, the cutting edge in his voice not mistakable for anything else.

"Legolas, if you want to, go home. It will only take you a day and you have been through much my friend," Aragorn reminded as he stood up and seeing Legolas fussing with the twisted straps of his quiver as he slipped it back over his head, helped straighten them.

The Elf pulled away and Aragorn leaned back on his heels, feeling slightly hurt by his friend's cold behavior but allowing the Elf to have his space. "You never even asked me how _I_ felt about all of this," snapped the prince in response to Aragorn's confused expression.

"I never knew you wanted me to!" Aragorn retorted defensively. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to! Why don't you just go home?" The last remark was meant to sting and Aragorn backed it up with a hurting glare.

"No!" Legolas barked at the ranger, shaking his head. "I can't let you do this one your own! What if something happened?" he protested, becoming more flustered by the minute. He wasn't sure what he wanted right now. He just felt jaded, confused and hurting.

"Legolas, I am grown in the years of my own people! I can look after myself!" Aragorn argued blatantly back. "I don't need you all of the time!"

The man instantly regretted his words when he saw the hurt flood into Legolas' eyes, not covered up with ice just long enough that it could burn the ranger's heart. The Elf remained firm in his commitment to his friend and said quietly, "I am coming with you, Strider."

Aragorn sighed and then protested adamantly. "No, you are not! You are going home! You can tell my father what has transpired."

Legolas smiled thinly. "How are you going to make me leave? Exactly, you can't," he said when he saw Aragorn cross his arms in frustration and snort in defeat. "And Elrond would not be thrilled about this news. I am homesick, not suicidal."

"So you are coming?" Aragorn finally realized what he had really known all along: it was no use arguing with a headstrong Elf.

"I am coming," the Elf affirmed, his smile fading as he looked wistfully over his shoulder at the beginnings of Mirkwood that he could barely see in the dark. For those who did not possess Elven eyesight they were hidden from view.

"Well then _you_ can pack your own things!" teased the ranger, trying to lighten the dark and forbidding mood that had settled on them.

Legolas chuckled dryly. "Yes, I don't think I want you putting anything in my pack again. Have you ever heard of _folding_ or perhaps _rolling_ a bed roll or cloak?" A grin spread across his face as Aragorn scowled.

"My method is effective," he answered simply, sitting on the ground, cramming things into his own pack only being careful with his long stemmed pipe.

"No," Legolas objected. "It's not."

"Yes. It is."

Sighing, Legolas decided against appraising the human further. "I am not even going to argue this time. Bull headed ranger."

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There were lights from Snowbourn flickering in the distance; Legolas' sharp Elven eyes saw them and alerted Aragorn who acknowledged them with a nod. They were nearing their destination. The man sighed and stopped decidedly, turning and looking back at the Elf who was frowning in confusion and had inclined his head to the side, blonde hair covering his shoulder in the process.

"Legolas, now is your last chance," the ranger said softly, drawing closer to his friend so their voices were hushed to whispers.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and his crumpled face expressed the twinge of pain he felt inside. "Aragorn, what do you mean?" he asked curiously, mildly confused.

Aragorn grabbed Legolas' arm and squeezed it in camaraderie, his clear silver eyes locked in Legolas' expressive blue ones. "This is your last chance to turn back. Once we get there, if you leave you could attract some unwanted attention. As you said, those scouts will be trouble but they will be less if they can't find a reason to harm you."

"What are you saying?" Legolas' whisper was adamant. "I will not enter my home unless you are with me, safe and sound." He pulled free of Aragorn's grip, irritated and glared at the ranger as he stepped back a pace. Shaking his head, Legolas balked, "no. I can't leave you."

"Legolas you are homesick! It hurts seeing you this way, all right? It hurts a lot every day. Do you think I am blind? You have hardly slept and eating has become a rarity as well! You are beginning to frighten me," Aragorn finished accusingly, with anxiety and pain reflected in his orbs as they softened. "I don't want to lose you."

Legolas smiled encouragingly, trying to dispel his friend's fears and end this argument. "You _can't_ lose me."

Aragorn didn't smile back and sucked his lips against his teeth before he answered, remembering things he wished he could forget. "Legolas do you remember Astroggen and Sygul? You came within a fraction of an inch of losing your life! If I had been seconds later-"

"But you were right on time," Legolas cut him off tersely, trying to side step the man so they could continue on. He didn't want to talk about Sygul; it was the past and the quicker it was pushed behind the better.

Aragorn wasn't so easily deterred and he grabbed Legolas' shoulder, shoving the Elf forcefully back a step. "Look here you Sindarin Elf!" he spat the insult. "How many times do you think that will be allowed in a lifetime? To be directly on time, not behind and not early?"

Legolas looked indignant and irritated by the shove and glared at his friend. "Well how many times do you think we will be in those circumstances again?" he retorted, causing Aragorn to pause as he thought of a come back.

Unable to think of an opposing argument, Aragorn just glared caustically. "You are going to get yourself killed." His voice was flat and Legolas just sighed.

Legolas was about to side step the ranger, not making a reply when he stiffened and crouched low to the ground, pulling the ranger after him. The Elf's eyes darted, looking around them intently.

"Legolas, this isn't funny," Aragorn muttered from half under his friend. "Just because you were losing the argument…" he accused darkly.

Legolas stopped his surveying just long enough to scowl witheringly at the ranger. "It isn't supposed to be funny. Shhh…" he put his finger to his lips and then crouched lower, pressing his ear to the ground for a moment before jerking his head up in alarm. "_Yrch_!"

Aragorn stared at Legolas' wide eyes in disbelief. "Are you sure?" he asked shortly, hoping that there might be some mistake.

Legolas nodded earnestly. "The ground groans beneath their hated feet," he confirmed, glancing pointedly at the grass beneath them and then back up, scanning the horizon line and the darkened plain about them but to no avail. Their adversaries were well hidden by the dark and thick mists so that Legolas and Aragorn were at a great disadvantage.

Not having any other option with his friend still crushing half down upon him, Aragorn pressed his ear to the earth and listened intently, identifying Legolas' findings as being correct and he sighed unenthusiastically. This was just not fair that trouble should find them so soon! Legolas was still unmoved and Aragorn cast a withering glare up at the Elf. "Would it trouble you too much to get up?" he hissed irritably.

Legolas shifted over without much thought mumbling a hasty, "sorry."

His attention was devoted to seeking out their hidden foes, and he reached back to grab his bow and an arrow, following the guideline of always being prepared. Knitting his brows, Legolas tried to ignore the cold sweat dotting his forehead and beginning to trickle down slowly, starting from his temples.

Aragorn had his hand on his sword hilt, keeping a lose grip on it, but fully prepared to wield it with only a split second's warning. His palms were slippery from perspiration and he felt his stomach tying itself into what felt like a series of tight and twisted knots of ice. "Where are they?" Aragorn asked in the lowest whisper possible knowing Legolas could here it.

"If I knew…" Legolas left his remark unfinished, trusting Aragorn to fill in the blanks and his hands tightened on his bow and its string was pulled a bit tauter. Blinking, Legolas tried to shove aside the cold feeling chasing up and down his spine. His concentration kept breaking as memories resurfaced and flashed through his mind, plaguing his thought with interruption.

Suddenly he rolled over and rolled on top of Aragorn pressing him to the ground, not caring whether he bruised the man in the process or not. The human was about to make an ornery remark when just where the Elf had been laying a warg rushed past, its claws leaving deep rents in the grass, severing the tangled lengthy blades.

Aragorn grabbed Legolas' shoulders and rolled the Elf off the other side of him, getting protectively between his friend and the unexpected adversary. Legolas gave a cry and narrowed his eyes angrily, casting Aragorn an exasperated scowl. He appreciated the concern, but he would prefer that Aragorn stay out of harm's way.

The arrow of his bow loosed with a snapping twang and the warg fell as its high-pitched yelp shattered the serenity of the night. And then all hell broke lose.

Legolas and Aragorn were on their feet in minutes but their attackers were already swarmed between them so that Legolas and Aragorn couldn't even see each other.

The orcs were black and easily hidden in the darkness if they held still. Legolas drove his knife into one behind him with a twirl and little effort before he was forced to use both of the twin knives to ward off a blow from a scimitar. There was the hollow clang of metal on metal and a jolt throbbed up Legolas' arms from the force of the attack, causing him to cringe slightly.

Not even fazed, the Elf used his foot to kick the orc back and then stabbed swiftly, catching the creature in the neck and without waiting to see if it was dead, proceeded to drive one of the knives through the mail of another. It cut through easily enough, but there was a wicked screech as the metals scrapped and caught against each other, which was soon followed by a routed cry from the orc as it collapsed.

The orcs pressed in closer and Legolas sighed in his mind. He wasn't given the slightest reprieve and the onslaught was getting continually worse, thicker and more determined.

Aragorn found himself fighting with about the same difficulty but without the Elven agility or endurance. He was in his prime but these Uruks were uncommonly large and vicious. He was blocking a blow or running one of the foul beasts through more than he was breathing, which was becoming quite frequent in and of itself.

Legolas was about to step backwards when he felt something hot up rush up his body, an explosion of heat and he remained standing where he was, mild confusion crossing his face. He was tempted to turn around and see what it was but he was sure it was meant to be a distraction and Legolas determined to keep himself focused on blocking blows.

However, when smoke began to choke him there was no doubt in his mind that it was a fire, caught on the dead grasses beneath his feet and it was spreading. He could feel the flames growing around his ankles and he stepped forward, deeper into the fray just as the orcs wanted.

As the fire curved around him, creating a semi-circle, it caught his eyes, making them look fierce and glitter with his hatred for the ruined and evil race. He reached back for his bow as the orcs backed off a little from the heat that the Elf was able to endure slightly longer. But the heat of the blaze had warped the bowstring and it was unable to take the pressure of being pulled back and released.

Notching an arrow faster than the orcs could see, Legolas drew back the string to begin his rapid succession of firing but he never got the chance.

There was a harsh swooshing sound like something cutting through the air and Legolas became vaguely aware his bowstring had snapped before he was struck full in the face and nearly staggered back in intense pain as a welt swelled across his face. His hands relinquished their hold on his bow as they immediately went his face, tracing the welt gingerly and in disbelief. Snapping a bowstring was a rarity for any Elf and Legolas was no less shocked than anyone else would be. Opening both of his eyes, he knew he was lucky he could still see.

But it wasn't time to count his blessings just yet.

Seeing their vantage point in the stunned Elf, the orcs sprang into action, trying to make good use of this Elf's misfortune.

One of them protected by his mail coat and hair covered thick skin, lunged through the fire, catching the Elf from behind and securing itself to Legolas' back while its arm wrapped around the prince's throat and his other hand squeezed, constricting Legolas' windpipe. Trying to gasp in surprise and throw the orc off, Legolas realized there was no way to rid him of the foul being that was breathing down his neck.

By now the smoke had created a thick haze and was suffocating him with a little help from the orc, whose nails were biting into the soft flesh of his throat. Staggering under the large Uruk's weight as his oxygen deprived muscles weakened; Legolas looked desperately around for Aragorn but was forced to his knees where more orcs pounced on him.

Thrashing madly once the hold on his throat was renounced, Legolas caught one or two in the face with his boots, causing them to retreat back a little. He wriggled halfway free of the mass of ten beasts that had brought him down only to be set upon by another who crushed a rough knife against his throat.

Legolas continued to struggle uselessly until the orc with the threatening knife gave it a fierce press, not taking any chances with the Elf. Legolas winced as he felt it cut slightly deeper into the small cut he had received from the Rohirrim scouts, causing it to smart with a vengeance.

Another orc straddled the helpless Elf, placing his bony knee on the prince's sternum and twisting it, grinding it against the bone.

Not to be defeated, Legolas tried to use his legs to propel the beast backward but an orc soon sat on those pinning him effectively to the ground. His arms were secured by the Uruk on top of his chest and bound mercilessly with tight cords of leather that sliced into the supple skin of his wrists.

Legolas opened his mouth and screamed frantically, "Strider!" But the only thing that could be heard was the roaring of the flames that were nearly on top of them. All voices were drowned out and he was only allowed to call for help once or twice before the orcs weren't willing to chance anything and clamped their course hands over his mouth.

"Keep yer mouth shut, you maggoty Elf!"

Legolas writhed in their clutches but was unable to find a useful vantage point or twist his face free of their filthy paws and claws. The knife was removed from his throat as they prepared to force him to his feet but there was still no chance for escape. For the few moments where he was laying on the ground, Legolas could have sworn by Elbereth he felt it vibrating with hoof beats. But he couldn't hear anything but the fire roaring and the blood rushing in his ears.

Shoving Legolas into the shadows, the orcs prodded him into a run with their scimitars, forcing him to run in the middle of their smothering pack, crushing him between their sweaty bodies.

Aragorn looked around, now that everything was revealed by the firelight. "Legolas!" The roaring of the growing flames and the yowling orcs droned his voice out. But they were not fighting him so hard anymore and then he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

Surveying the turmoil around him for the source of the vibrations he saw Thengel and his Riders swarming over the hill at a dead gallop. Obviously they had seen the smoke and the light emitted by the large flames that were starting to devour the grasses.

Quickly stepping side and twisting his body just in time to avoid being trampled, Aragorn watched tiredly and in awe as the Riders crashed into the orcs without slowing down even minutely. The beasts that weren't trampled under the pounding, grinding hooves were skewered upon their spears and swords, and the bowmen shot a few.

"Legolas!" Aragorn screamed for his friend again as a lump tightened his throat. "Legolas!"

The Riders were finishing off the orcs now, and their dying screams and gurgles bounced eerily off the hills in strange imitational ghosts.

Before long the dead lay heaped all around the firelight, the reflection of the orange flame was flickering on their ghastly faces and the battle was finished.

Aragorn walked among the dead, flipping over bodies in disgust with his boot toe, ignoring the black blood that sometimes rushed out and over his boot. His face was crumpled in a dark grimace as he searched in vain for the body of Legolas, though he really was begging the Valar to find his friend his alive.

"Thorongil!" hailed Thengel, steering his horse towards the ranger and riding over at a slow pace, allowing his horse a reprieve.

Aragorn made no answer, hanging his head in disbelief and despair as he stared at the orc bodies piled around him, Elven arrows in their throats. Tears pricked under his eyes…he had told that Elf to go home!

Thengel noticed Aragorn's distress and guiding his horse alongside the ranger, paused it and sat there for a moment in silence. Finally he spoke quietly, "where is the Elf?"

Aragorn knew that Legolas' body had not been found among the carcasses of the orcs and that only left one other alternative. Some of the orcs had gotten away with Legolas in tow while their fellows fought and died.

Aragorn looked up at him jadedly and was about to answer when there was a gurgling cackle to his left and he turned abruptly to see a dying orc grinning wickedly. A deep wound to his chest showed where one of Legolas' twin knives had been driven through his mail and had mortally wounded him. Black blood colored his mouth and Aragorn narrowed his eyes in anger as he saw the thing continuing to smile.

"Your little…friend is going to paymy employersa v-visit," the orc's jovial speech was slurred as death was slowly catching up with him and his consciousness was about to fail him. He struggled to hold it, savoring this moment and the pain in everyone's eyes.

Aragorn forgot how to breathe as the garbled words of the orc sank in and his fears were confirmed. Disgust mingled with sorrow and alarm crossed Thengel's face as he stared wide-eyed at the hideous orc dying at their feet.

Aragorn felt himself going numb, unable to feel how sick he knew he was becoming. Sweat slicked his hands and remembering to draw a breath, the ranger mentally shuddered. Suddenly he felt weak and his face turned a ghastly white as his body's delayed reaction caught up with the events.

If it were men that had captured Legolas things might not have been as horrible, if that were possible. Men were a little more capable of having some shadow of mercy. Orcs were bereft of mercy and they hated Elves with an unmatched passion, remembering what they had once been.

Ashes filled the air as men frantically stomped out the fire and threw dirt on it, trying to prevent it from spreading and soon all was cloaked in darkness again and everyone's faces were hidden. "I told you to go home," Aragorn whispered so low it was inaudible and he squeezed his eyes shut to suppress the hot tears.

* * *

**TBC...Well, things are already at a bad start, are they not? At least for our heroes...LOL You know what we are going to ask you next (grins)...what think you? Please review! Your feedback is much appreciated! But we don't have to tell you that...LOL! **

**We are going to try and post every Friday. **

**And one more note: We have our own yahoo! group now, which you can join by going to our website (on our bio) and scrolling down. **


	2. An Eye for an Eye

**Well, here is the next chapter, just as we promised with, all the gore and angst entailed! ;) Now, we have a special announcement to make! We have a beta! –gasps- Everybody, meet Nyctea Scandiaca! We would like to thank her for her brilliant beta-reading skills and the wonderful help and effort she gave us for this chapter. :) Thank you!**

_I Will Always Return_

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**CHAPTER TWO**

An Eye for an Eye 

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The orcs hadn't driven Legolas far before they stopped, seeming not to care about going any further and in fact acting lazy, Legolas noted as he was roughly yanked to a stop by his cloak becoming entangled in one of their clawed paws. "Where do you think yer going?" the brutish creature snarled, pulling Legolas back a few staggering steps. They were keeping a tight rein on the nimble Elf, leaving him no chances.

Legolas was unable to stop himself in time from answering the so obviously rhetorical question as he dug in his heels to both avoid a fall and stop the backward movement. This was probably because he didn't very much care that it was rhetorical or he refused to see that it was. He had by no means appreciated the forceful pull on his cloak or the treatment he was receiving thus far. They had worked him with whips and clubs along the way, thinking that he needed a little encouragement and leaving bruises and welts in the devices' wake. Occasionally, he had been tripped, or slammed to the ground, only to be kicked and trodden upon by their heavy feet. "Apparently nowhere," he snapped at the creatures, pulling back from their grips and giving them the most defiant glare he knew how to muster, which was surprisingly potent.

"Shut yer uppish little mouth Elf," snarled a large orc as he slammed his companions aside and moved himself to stand before Legolas. The Elf was taller than he was –by quite a lot- and that didn't settle well with him. It was annoying when he had to look up to his captive. "Get him on his knees! Now!" he snapped angrily at his subordinates. Apparently his subordinates were not moving fast enough and he stood up on his toes and Legolas' head snapped to the side as the back of the orc's hand struck him roughly harshly across the face. The metal weaved into the leather of his studied glove scrapped a minor abrasion across the proud cheekbones as Legolas was thrown off balance by another shove and a few more well-placed hits from some of the helpful creatures. The Elf finally landed sprawled on the ground.

Here it comes, Legolas mused as he took in the full force of the blow, which had been considerably stronger than expected. I am going to be their new punching bag for the next hour.

It took him another second to understand that he was actually sprawled on the ground under his captors' feet and still another moment to realize that his face was burning, as blood rushed to one side of it into an aggravating crimson pattern that resembled the orc captain's hand. He hadn't thought he had been struck that hard. He tasted a coppery tang and his lip curled in anger.

For the next few seconds he worked on dissolving all the fuzzy material that seemed to be clogging his wits but once that was accomplished he turned only his steeled eyes and gave the orcs the most deliberate and angered glare that in times past had served to strike up fear in many a slothful sentinel's heart. Unfortunately, on these orcs, it had no effect, which, Legolas reasoned as he watched them through a darkened set of eyes, could possibly be because they weren't really giving him much of their attention.

What had been a cold fear in the pit of his stomach ebbed away slightly as some of it transformed into a strange curiosity. This was not natural with orcs, particularly Mordor orcs, especially if their captive was an Elf. Legolas had to admit that he didn't understand a lot right now but this was definitely more confusing. Sitting up from where he had been afraid to move up until the now, the Wood-Elf decided to put his sharp Elven senses to good use.

The orcs were talking agitatedly in their abominable tongue, of which Legolas knew very little and didn't care to hear or understand any more of. He was no observer when it came to orcs and knew little about them save that they were ugly and generally stupid with the exception of their cleverness in building torture devices and weapons. However, at the moment he was sure they were angry as well as anxious about something. Legolas found his curiosity starting to peak, fighting with his fear for mastery.

There wasn't anything he could do right now that could possibly deter them from their motives except withholding information, which really didn't matter because he had nothing to withhold. Legolas was grateful that their main objective was not discovering how many ways that they could make an Elf scream, but all the same he was disconcerted by the lapse in their natural behaviour. Orcs were without self-restraint. They were selfish and cruel. It was unnatural that he should not be enduring more than what he was. It was becoming obvious that they wanted him in one piece. The more he tried to think of the reasoning behind their actions, the more he began to become alarmed. Dark and ominous nausea churned in his stomach.

Almost catching his breath, he narrowed his eyes and looked inquisitively about them as though everything had suddenly become quite intriguing. He could be imagining it, yes, but somehow he couldn't believe that was the case. The hoof beats throbbing in the air were real, very real. As a matter of fact, there had only been a few things of which he had ever been this certain about in his life.

If the orcs heard the sound, they didn't seem overly concerned. It was impossible for even mortal ears to miss the sounds of the approaching horses now and Legolas was growing increasingly uneasy. The cold fear was beginning to wrap around his heart again, squeezing it so it was almost suffocating it. His mind briefly flashed back to the scouts that had managed to capture him earlier, whether it was because of his anger towards them or because there was some evil on them he didn't know, but he couldn't erase the image of their faces from his mind.

In moments five men on horses rode post haste into camp, the animals chomping at their bits and breathing a bit hard. Immediately Legolas' face hardened, scrunching up in disgust and he had never wished that he had been more wrong. Two out of the five men were indeed the scouts that had waylaid him and he felt a hot anger building up towards the traitors that he wasn't going to find easy to suppress, especially considering the circumstances he was in. What he also found particularly angering was that these humans greeted the orcs almost as though they were friends. Politically speaking, they were but after that, all cordialness came to an end and Legolas wouldn't have been surprised if they gutted each other at some later point in their miserable lives. His only wish was that he did not have to bear witness to such an event. It would be quite disgusting.

"Did you capture both of them?" asked one of the humans, the scout that Legolas had managed to slice across the arm with his knife blade before he found himself subdued.

The orc captain frowned. "The cursed human evaded us. We got the maggoty Elf." A gesture from his arm directed at Legolas guided the Rohirric man's eyes in the direction of the prisoner, who seemed angry, if the man's interpretation of his clouded expression was accurate.

The wounded scout turned deliberately and his eyes stared down at Legolas, suddenly making the Wood-Elf feel a hated sense of inferiority –something he had not felt under a human's glare in quite some time- and what made it worse was that this man had no title; he was a mere scout. A spark of passionate hatred ignited somewhere within him and even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't let go of it and be moved more to pity. "Ah, Legolas Greenleaf, sorry to have you detained in such an uncomfortable way, but, well there was nothing left to do. I hope you aren't hurt." His voice was mocking and full of laughter.

"Don't lose sleep over it, _Adan_, your… underlings haven't given me more than a few bruises and placed me in unreasonably tight bonds that are cutting off the circulation to my hands," Legolas added tersely, not wanting to talk to these people and feeling an explainable sense of grumpiness. He actually knew he should be feeling a strange sense of gratitude towards these people for not already leaving him with an ounce less of his blood, but a few slaps back he had decided that blood loss was inevitable so he shouldn't set his hopes too high. There was no use setting himself up for disappointment.

"Oh, don't be so gloomy, Elf," the blonde man chided his captive, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he fairly pranced around the bound Elf, who remained emotionless except for a slightly aggravated expression. "We still need you alive… for now."

This was when Legolas decided that he didn't like this man's voice… the human appeared to be far too much in love with it. It was disgusting. "Well that's comforting, I must say," Legolas' tone was sarcastic and cold. He was not in the mood for any cordial games and if the man was trying to frighten him, it wasn't really working. The human hadn't given him a reason to truly fear yet.

"Well don't be so assured Legolas," the human taunted, pulling a long knife out of his belt and bringing it before Legolas' face as though the mere presence was supposed to strike uncontrollable terror into the captive's heart. The man was sorely disappointed when Legolas remained impassive and didn't even seem to blink. "There are many things worse than death. I need to get back at you for that knife work you performed earlier. You aren't so much a warrior now."

Raising a brow, the first real movement he had done in the past few minutes, Legolas looked at the human in full _belief_ that he was going to do exactly as he said. "You are right. If I were not bound you would be dead, because in a fair fight I would kill you."

The human's sadistic smile faded a bit at that and the orcs smiled happily in anticipation. This Elf just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Such things could eventually be altered. Sighing inwardly, the Rohirric man knew that sooner or later the Elf was going to pay dearly for his witty remarks and rebuttals. Well, sooner sounded far more appealing than later but there were things that needed to be done.

"Legolas you will find us to be far more accommodating if you learn to hold your tongue. Otherwise you might find yourself in a miserable position," he advised in a quiet voice that still didn't sound angry, just eerily smooth… calm.

The Elf worked to unwind the cold knot twining in the pit of his stomach that was his growing fear. Looking at the knife and seeing his pale and bruised face reflected in the polished silver, Legolas turned his gaze to look up at the human and said in an equally calm voice, "you still plan to cut me." It was a statement, not a question. Legolas wasn't stupid after all. The sadistic, gleeful, smile, with the knife enclosed by the man's hand was all the clues he needed.

The blonde man's smile broadened into an expectant grin that served to send icy shivers up and down Legolas' spine. "I do indeed." His grin took on an insane air. "An eye for an eye, Legolas."

To this Legolas only inclined his head as the orcs flanked either side of him and dragged him to his feet by his upper arms and hair –anything they could get a grip on. He struggled some at first, shuddering with loathing as they overpowered him and pulled him into their clutches. The orcs held him firmly in place, there being no pole to bind him to and they seemed to take a strange delight in shoving him around or breathing down his neck. Their nails bit into his fair skin, pricking it slightly, but Legolas didn't flinch. All Legolas could think about was that if he possessed his twin knives then he would kill them all with his hands bound or die trying.

"You stoop too low, human. The Valar will not let you live for this dirty work," Legolas spat defensively as the man looked over the knife much like a woman observing a piece of fine jewellery that she intended to purchase. Out of the corner of his eyes, Legolas saw more of the orcs lighting a small but lively fire that cast bizarre shadows about the still darkened dawn. When he saw his fair-haired captor glance that way and a glimmer come into his eyes, the Elf knew that this was going to be far more than 'an eye for an eye'.

Well, at least this gave him more insight into this human's temperament: the man had no self-control.

When he saw the blade enter the red hot embers and become submerged by them he had no doubt this was going to far outweigh simple payback and everything he had been thinking a few seconds ago was confirmed. This man had no self-restraint, whether because he was born without it or because it never used it, the Elf wasn't sure. In truth, Legolas would have preferred not to exchange a single word with these people but since he had already exchanged quite a few over that limit he decided that a few more couldn't worsen things too much depending on their context and content. "Why do you need me alive?" he asked the man demandingly, glowering at his captor's back the entire time since the man seemed disinclined to turn around and give him a single glance.

"The reason is rather simple. Your ranger friend is… well… at large and we don't like that very much. He could interfere with things that are none of his or your business." The human finally turned around and stared at the Elf, as if trying to see if the immortal had made any sense from what he had just said. Almost immediately he decided that yes, this fair-haired creature was catching on to things rather quickly other wise he doubted that his eyes would have death reflecting in them.

"So you are going to use me as bait."

Aye, this Elf was smarter than he had thought. Of course, he didn't truly expect someone with the reputation of being Thorongil's trusted scout to be stupid.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," answered the Rohirric man, glancing at the orcs as he heard them snickering amongst themselves. It certainly had not been his idea to have anything to do with them, he reminded himself in annoyance. Looking once more at the blade covered by the hot coals he smiled as he recognized the familiar red glow creeping up the edges as it was becoming red-hot. He would have rather let the Elf and ranger die at the orcs' hands in battle than have to deal with captives right now, especially one as resourceful as the bloody Elf. He would actually have expected to take Thorongil captive, if anybody. But as it was, he would find several ways to turn this to his advantage.

Legolas just scowled harder. "It will never work."

"I beg to differ, Legolas: it will."

Legolas resisted the urge to try to become invisible and/or squirm away as he saw his abductor fishing the heated blade out of the coals, careful not to singe his own clothes or skin. Legolas didn't need to be told how badly this was going to hurt, nor that it was going to leave a wound to remember. Boring his blue eyes into the man's he asked softly as he began to understand he was more or less helpless, "Why are you doing this?" Legolas was stunned by how hollow and defenceless he had let his own voice sound.

He also hadn't expected an answer so he was surprised when the human supplied one.

The man paused and then answered with a question of his own. "Doing what? Getting even with you? What?" He looked at Legolas as though he was about the dumbest creature on the face of the earth, earning an eye roll of exasperation.

"Betraying your people and your king," the Elf answered tartly, his mood becoming even sourer as he realized this was the second political skirmish he and Aragorn had managed to find themselves in the midst of in less than five years. Good practice for being a king though, he decided absentmindedly.

"For no reason that you could understand Legolas," he retorted, grabbing Legolas arm and turning it palm upwards so he could slice away the fabric of his tunic up the length of his arm. It singed from the heat of the knife's edge and Legolas could already feel his skin blistering. Ah, Elbereth, they would pay for this, he reminded himself comfortingly as he set his jaw and shifted his eyes so that he wasn't forced to see the satisfaction on his tormentor's face.

The human was right about one thing at least, his reasons, however thoroughly explained, could never fully be understood and there was probably a good reason for that, namely because they didn't make sense.

Suddenly the metal edge of the knife made contact with the paler skin of the under part of his upturned forearm and it sliced through the skin, spurting a little bit of blood before the hot metal cauterized the wound. For a moment all of Legolas' breath was stolen away and all he could do was gape then he quickly drew in air and gasped as the knife was dragged up the length of his arm until it nearly reached the elbow, leaving the same sort of wound that Legolas had applied to his captor only hours earlier.

He didn't feel the full extent of the pain HHuntil a split second later, thanks to a delayed reaction and the world suddenly seemed to go mute as though a blanket had been laid over it, distorting the sounds. Giving his head a very small shake so that he would not give himself a headache on top of everything else, Legolas blinked back some soft dark material that seemed to be filtering in and out of his vision in a most aggravating way. The world seemed to swim back into focus even if it was a bit more blurred than when he had last remembered and spun out of centre every now and then.

Hearing voices that sounded unclear so that he hardly recognized them, the Elf blinked and turned his attention to the human who had just dared to lay a heated knife to his skin. The knife was still there, Legolas realized in surprise. The orcs around and gripping the prince jeered animatedly, savouring the Elf's pain and the paleness that had come over his face. Some their fingers tightened in their excitement, biting into wounds left from their whips and clubs.

Withdrawing the knife almost nonchalantly, the blonde man turned to his chestnut-haired companion that was standing near the orcs and seemed almost to hold his chin up as he bragged, "Elves are no different than we are. They have no magic. And," he held up the knife that glistened scarlet with Legolas' blood, "they bleed red."

Legolas almost smiled despite his pain. Humans always seemed astonished by these sorts of things. Of course _he_ knew that Elves bled red, but humans always seemed to believe that they bled purple or orange, something that he often found highly amusing.

"Ceorl, you will regret this. That Witch that lives in the Golden Wood will get back at you for this," cautioned the chestnut-haired man anxiously, looking in that direction as though he expected Galadriel to rise up in a cloud of billowing black smoke, proclaim their doom, clap her hands and kill them all in a melodramatic display of pure calamity. At the moment, Legolas half-wished they were right and wondered briefly if Galadriel herself would appreciate the idea. Probably, he decided.

"You just don't seem to grasp the situation, Deor. Elves have **_no magic_**," Ceorl spoke as though the other man was a highly stupid child and then reached forward, twining his hand in Legolas' tunic front. Disappointed looks came over the orcs' faces as they realized they were about to be robbed of their favourite plaything and a few seconds later Legolas was ripped from their grasp, garnering a round of crestfallen expressions. "Go ahead, show us some of your Elf-magic, Legolas."

Legolas wished he could and he in fact prayed to the Valar that for maybe just a few seconds they could let him in on what it was like to choose someone's fate or rain fire and brimstone. Unfortunately they seemed disinclined to answer him and so he simply diverted his gaze to avoid further aggravation, smiling slightly as he imagined Ceorl running for his life while fire rained from the sky around him and his own little dark lightning-shooting cloud followed above him. It had been a nice dream, the Elf told himself mentally just after he was jolted out of the reverie.

He was already developing a passionate hatred towards this man and he had known him for less than a full day. It was a new record.

"See?" He shook Legolas demonstratively by his tunic collar and nearly lifted him off his feet. "He can't do anything. King Thengel and his men were fools to ever give Elves that much credit. And to think we took orders from such idiots."

"You are the fool _Adan_! What do you hope to accomplish with only five men?" Legolas spat as he was shoved backward into said men's grips, barely managing to stay upright and save himself from an embarrassing fall. These men could do what they want but he wasn't going to give them any more reason to see him as weak or draw anymore satisfaction out of his capture. However, the Elf involuntarily flinched as their hands enclosed around his arms and pulled at his tunic and hair to maintain control over him. Like the orcs, they were taking no chances with their prisoner.

"Legolas, I know you aren't stupid so please don't make such dense comments. They waste my time. Of course I have more than five men! It just so happens that five men are all that it takes to control _you_! The orcs did a fine job of capturing you and though I am sure they would gladly volunteer to do more, they will be heading back to the Eastfold." At this point he cast them a pointed glare and reluctantly, they began to shuffle off, lingering just long enough to stare hungrily at the Elf. "They have other business to attend to."

Legolas refused to move as the men pulled and worked to drag him towards the horses. Scrunching his face up in pure and unaltered anger as well as pain from his lacerated arm, the Elf lashed out defensively before he could stop himself, "And what do Thorongil and I have to do with all of this?"

Ceorl smiled slightly, inclining his head as he laughed to himself, almost as though no one else was around. "Nothing. Unfortunately for you both, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And," he shook his head, "you will be out of the way in a few more days."

"You won't get away with this," Legolas said, still refusing to move from the spot until he was good and ready. He just didn't understand how all the pushing and prodding was supposed to encourage anyone to do anything for anyone. It only served to make him want to resist even more and a small fire smouldered in his eyes as he firmly met Ceorl's laughing gaze with a look that resembled one a water-drenched lion might give.

"I already did." Tipping his chin up in a gesture to his men, Ceorl commanded in mild frustration. "Get him moving." It was obvious he was through being cordial and that his small store of patience was running thin.

One of the three companions saw the telltale signs of exasperation written on his chief's face. He frowned, deciding almost instantly that he greatly wanted to be of more service. In a nice exhibit of brotherly love and helpfulness, the man waited a few seconds to see where the progress with Legolas was going before he acted and did the only thing he could think of doing right then, which was actually quite impressive as well as instantly effective. Taking his spear's staff, he smashed it into Legolas' abdomen with enough force to send the Elf backwards. The captive collided with his captors and let them take their time gathering him up, which gave him time to remember how to breathe properly.

Sighing, Ceorl mounted his dirt brown horse and watched in condescending silence as all four men, if you included Deor, finally coerced Legolas up onto a horse and set him before Deor. They tied his hands to the saddle horn in such a way that if the horse lost a shoe and tumbled over, Legolas would be crushed. Before that, however, the Elf leaned back against the chest of the man behind him and swung his legs around, knocking the wind out of one captor and hitting another in the face, practically crushing his nose.

Amazingly, and providing Legolas with a great sense of dissatisfaction, all of this didn't bring about a change in Ceorl's facial expression. It remained unexpectedly blank, or just at ease and cool with what was going on about him even though Legolas knew he couldn't be overly pleased with the situation at all.

The Elf found himself breathing faster and shallower and wondered if a rib or maybe two had suffered a fracture from the blow. With every breath he took an intense pain that started in his lower part of his chest, spread throughout the left side of his ribcage like molten fire. If by chance he took a deep breath by mistake, he found the pain to increase to unbearable, nauseating levels. However, he did not expect these humans to be the least bit sympathetic or compassionate, so Legolas decided that he would keep it to himself. There was no need for them to know.

Nevertheless, he doubted that he would be able to hide it tomorrow if it was a broken rib, which he strongly suspected.

Deor took the reins and steered the horse towards the others, catching up to Ceorl and caring little how he jarred the prisoner seated before him. It was a struggle for Legolas not to hiss or wince at every uneven move the horse made. The chestnut-haired man nodded to his leader and said curtly as though he had done everything himself, "the situation is under control, sir." It was obvious that he was doing his best to make it look as though it had never been out of control to begin with but he was failing miserably.

Ceorl seemed unimpressed and he stared at Deor for a moment. "Good, because if Legolas gets away you will answer for him if he cannot be recovered, understood?" Turning to Legolas, he gave him a severe glare and sneered. "But you are going to behave, aren't you?"

"As far as you know, human," the prince's response was smooth and promised absolutely nothing. Legolas seemed to have mastered the art of looking completely indifferent while giving the impression that he was completely livid and insulted from top to bottom.

But Ceorl wasn't paying much attention to him anymore. As a matter of fact, he had turned his head away almost immediately after asking the question, not seeing the answer as being relevant in any way. Legolas was outnumbered, bound and injured, there was little chance for escape and even if Legolas did manage to break away he wouldn't get very far. They were on a plain and so there were only so many places he could go, considering that the blonde human doubted the Elf knew the area well enough to find a cave –and anyway, there were only few of those, their lair being one of them.

Ceorl only felt it fair to warn Legolas of the consequences of an attempted escape. Turning on his heels, he glared severely at the prince before everyone began move out towards their destination. "If you attempt to escape and are caught, the consequences will be harsh. I will not hesitate to have you thrashed within an inch of your life, Elf!"

:0Ї0:

Aragorn mounted his borrowed horse, personally lent to him by King Thengel himself. He knew better than to try and go on with his life like he had never known Legolas because he knew sooner or later everything he cared about would fall apart and that left only one other alternative, as he had explained patiently as possible to Thengel. He had to follow his friend to whatever end it led –even if it meant into Mordor and before the Dark Lord's throne in chains.

Thengel had seemed disappointed and yet his face and wearied eyes spoke of understanding as he generously provided a horse to make Aragorn's job easier while blessing his journey and wishing the ranger well. In all truth, he had liked Legolas, even if suspicion and caution had gotten in the way, and he would have been honoured to call the Elf his friend if only he would have learned to put aside all differences sooner. He could tell that Thorongil was restless to find his friend and he couldn't blame him: the Elf's bearing and calm nature commanded loyalty.

Aragorn patted the horses neck, feeling it frothing in sweat and knowing that he was pushing the beast towards its limits, especially since it had borne its former master in a battle against some of the most hellish creatures that walked Middle Earth, save for the Nazgûl. His hand came off covered in sweat-stained foam and he sighed, relenting his riding to let the creature catch its breath so he wouldn't run it to its death. Relinquishing his hold on the reins, the human allowed the creature its lead as it shook its head, flopping its lengthy flaxen main from side to side.

Looking to the horizon as he lifted his head to look ahead and see what he must, Aragorn saw that the sun was rising, peeking its circular face of orange flame over the edge of the mountains and gradually casting things in a milky, golden light that he would have found beautiful under more mundane circumstances. If the orcs had Legolas then they would most likely stop, unless they were severely pressed by some irregular conditions. Being creatures of darkness and obscurity, the sunlight penetrated and pained their eyes and shook the resolve set in their dark and hard hearts.

Sighing heavily and allowing a droop to roll his shoulders, the ranger drew a deep, trembling breath and held it for a minute before releasing it, trying to calm the tumult churning in his stomach and melt the cold feeling freezing his insides. He and Legolas were so close to going home and he had seen the hurt that had been reflected in his friend's eyes when the Elf smiled, scowled, or did nothing at all, -an echo of all they had been through in Harad. He had been so scared of losing Legolas then and yet as much as he was loath to admit it to himself he had possessed more control of the situation in Harad than he had now.

Patting the horse's neck encouragingly, the man smiled without emotion, reflexively going numb to dull the pain and fear in his system and mind. "We have a ways to go yet, _mellon nîn_." Ah, he remembered the last time he had spoken the phrase "_mellon nîn_". It had been to Legolas of course and suddenly Aragorn feared he may never be able to say those words to the Elf again. He would die to even be able to call Legolas his friend one last time to the prince's face and relinquish any unkind thing he had ever said to the Elf. He didn't want their friendship to be a thing of the past.

Gathering up the horse's reins, Aragorn blinked and looked at the sun, rising in the East, being something that Sauron was unable to touch or denigrate. He was going to chase that sun, because his friend was being forced to chase it.

Spurring the mount, Aragorn called to it in Elvish, encouraging it to practically fly with its fast pace. He didn't care if the orcs knew he was coming, and he didn't care that his death could lie ahead, written in the possible dangers. Legolas was already being forced to live in those dangers and face his own death… for the second time in two years. The Elf deserved to go home. Aragorn knew he had dragged his friend into this even if the prince had claimed to come willingly, and he would be damned if he didn't make sure his friend stood beneath Mirkwood's Eaves and walked down his father's halls again.

It was some hours later, when the sun had reached its zenith and the earth bathed in early afternoon light that the human pulled the horse into a stop, wincing when he felt it shudder in weariness. Dismounting, the human was about to tend to the horse when he noticed something on the ground –a large pile of something, which explained half of what he was smelling at the moment. Horse droppings and they weren't from the one he rode.

Dismounting and dropping to one knee, he searched the ground for clues as to the creature's direction and if there had been any others with it. His experienced and trained eyes found exactly what he was looking for in about half the time he thought it would take, though it didn't make the situation any better or worse. There _were_ more horses; at least five besides the one he knew had already come through here. The sets of tracks were distinct and not mistakable for anything else.

But orcs didn't use horses. Yet there were orc tracks as well. Had a scouting party of Rohan been killed? Crinkling his brow in concentration and thinking back to the fight hours back when Legolas had first been captured by Sauron's slaves; Aragorn remembered he had missed the scouts in battle. Given, it had been very hectic and everything had been blurred in his memory like disturbed water, but he was certain that he had never seen their faces -not once. There was the possibility they had been killed, but he had avidly searched the dead, looking for Legolas' mangled body and hoping to simply find the Elf wounded and still breathing.

Also, he noticed, feeling slightly stupid, there had been no deaths here. Not a drop of blood had been spilled on the ground and upon further investigation; he discovered the cooled, charred remnants of a small fire. It couldn't have been lit for very long; still showing the almost skeletal remains of sticks and other fuel, though they were blackened to a crisp. For what purpose it had been lit, Aragorn didn't know but it made him sick when he thought that Legolas was still in their clutches and at their mercy. That fire had not been meant for cooking or warmth…and that left very little alternatives. It was true that the men of Rohan often branded their horses, for trading purposes and identification so he wouldn't be surprised if they found a way to incorporate this into their treatment of a hated prisoner, especially if that prisoner was incompliant, which would definitely fit in with Legolas' insolent demeanour.

Feeling pale, Aragorn found his hands shaking as he thought of the hot metal being pressed against Legolas' porcelain skin and seeing his friend's face screw up in pain as the searing sting ran through every nerve. He imagined that he could smell the appalling odour of overcooked flesh –his friend's flesh and blood. The thought was so vivid that he cringed and had to force down the acidic bile rising in the back of his throat.

Legolas didn't deserve this –he never had- and anger burned in Aragorn's heart as he thought of his friend bound and in pain all by himself surrounded by people who would as soon take his head as look at him. Almost in black anger, the ranger grabbed a tussock of hard, stiff grass and twined his fingers through it before viciously yanking it from the earth, uprooting some sod as well, and throwing it away so that it landed a few feet off.

Smacking his clenched fist against the ground to vent his frustrations, Aragorn pleaded to the Valar that when he caught up with Legolas and his captors, that they would be gracious enough to let him change places with Legolas. If he was given just one chance to change everything and reject helping Rohan and go home as had been planned than he would gladly do it if it meant that he and Legolas would have both entered Thranduil's halls.

Not knowing what his friend was going through, and if Legolas was scared or suffering was perhaps the greatest torture Aragorn had faced since Harad. At least in Harad he could hear Legolas screaming and he knew the Elf was alive, which provided some twisted comfort in those dark cells. There was now comfort here.

:0Ї0:

"Are you asleep on your feet, Elrohir?" hissed Rothinzil into the other Elf's ear as the twin's feet tangled and caused him to lurch forward, only to be saved from a fall by Rothinzil's strangely quick reflexes. Normally this would have garnered at least a light snicker from Elladan, but the mood was as dark and monotonous as it had been for near three years now.

"No, no, of course not. Just a bit travel weary, that's all," Elrohir objected drowsily as Rothinzil shook his head disbelievingly.

"'A bit travel weary'?" he questioned incredulously, eyeing Elrohir doubtfully. "I say you are dead on your feet." Throwing an accusing glance at Elladan, he declared matter-of-factly, "See? This is what you get when you travel day and night!"

The twins along with Rothinzil, who had adamantly refused to be left behind, had travelled to Harad or close to it, daring to face the gravest of perils if there was the slightest chance of finding news of Aragorn and Legolas and bringing them back home. The trip to Harad had been uneventful and had actually bordered on being boring as they talked to a nomad, whom they found herding his livestock. But when they had received news that the fair-haired Elf and the ranger had traversed back to Minas Tirith, they had gone to Gondor, only to arrive there a few days too late, since Legolas and Aragorn were already heading homeward.

They had not been overly surprised when the staff of the Houses of Healing had also complained that the two were no half as healed as they professed so vehemently and that their wounds would most likely cause them trouble on the journey home. In fact, the three had been sympathetic towards the poor healers and given their apologies for Legolas and Aragorn's impulsive behaviour before they left themselves.

But for all the warning from the healers that Legolas and Aragorn were a whole lot weaker than they thought, the two were putting the miles behind them quite well and Elladan, Elrohir and Rothinzil had found themselves pushed hard to catch up. Now it seemed they were getting close and they hoped that now that Mirkwood was in sight, Legolas and Aragorn might take it easy.

Elladan turned his attention back to Rothinzil from where it had previously been scanning the dimly lit horizon as the new sun was rising and driving back the night shadow. "Well we have almost caught up and with any luck we will have them hogtied and be dragging them back home by dark."

"So I take it we still aren't going to rest?" Elrohir sighed. He was eager to find his adopted brother of course, but he didn't think that Legolas and Aragorn could find this much trouble so close to home. Wait, he amended mentally, yes, they could -quite easily actually. "On the other hand, we might as well press on. No telling what they have found." Remembering that the two friends had been wounded by something or someone made him uncomfortable though he wasn't taken the least bit aback.

Roth just looked a bit worse for wear and homesick. This feeling and expression was shared almost equally by everyone else. When they had left Mirkwood, Lord Elrond had still been there, but his depression had worsened considerably, which was one of the main reasons that they had left, besides wanting to find Legolas and Estel. It was gnawing at their hearts and souls to see their father so disheartened and miserable and grave every minute of the day.

Thranduil wasn't much better off than Elrond and the kingdom of the Wood Elves was in grave danger of collapsing as well, though the Silvan beings were all entirely too stubborn to go to the Havens and preferred solitude and self reliance if that was what it came to rather than admit anything was wrong. Rothinzil was getting frustrated out of his mind trying to help maintain some sort of order in the kingdom and he couldn't have stood it another day when he left.

Helluin and their twin children, Ilwë and Teleprion, he had escorted to Laketown first with the aid of the twins, desiring to get them out of harm's way since he wasn't sure which way things were going and was most likely going to be absent for a lengthy bit of time. Helluin had protested adamantly, but to no avail and in the end he had given into Rothinzil just so he would quit worrying.

Simultaneously pushing these thoughts aside, the three companions took in everything before them, the green of Rohan rolling out before them before giving way to mountainous terrain. Everything was bathed in a milky golden light from the rising sun and had a warm glow to it, making their hearts lighten slightly.

Rothinzil was the first to crack a smile and he wondered out loud, "do you think they found trouble here?"

The twins just looked at him in perfect disbelief at the question and nearly dropped their jaws in surprise that Rothinzil, of all people, would ask it. The identical looks plainly asked, 'what do you think? Was that a joke or are you just plain stupid?'

Roth's grin faded and he shrugged dismissively. "Just hopeful, that's all." When they continued to stare blankly at him for a minute he glared caustically, feeling very much annoyed. "Alright, you made your point. It was a stupid question," he allowed darkly.

"Let's just pretend you didn't have a momentary lapse of common sense," Elrohir suggested brightly and they all left it at that, not caring to take it any further at the moment.

"So, does anyone see any signs of them?" questioned Elladan after a while, as they all gazed conscientiously at the waking world before them.

"Not yet, perhaps we should search the ground?" suggested Rothinzil seriously. Elrohir nodded in agreement and before Elladan could say anything they were practically on their hands and knees looking for any signs that Legolas or Estel might have come this way.

Sighing, Elladan gave the horizon and the area surrounding one last mournful look over and then decided to assist Elrohir and Roth in their search.

It was only a few moments before Roth gave a small cry to get their attention and they all were scrambling hastily to get over to where he crouched, wide and excited eyes rooted to a single spot in the grass. Ash.

"It's cold," Elrohir noted openly as he touched the grey flakes and blackened chunks of wood hesitantly with his finger tips after he felt no heat radiating from it onto the palm of his outstretched hand. Disappointment etched itself on his face and he rocked back on his heels. "They are at least a day ahead of us."

"More like twelve hours," objected Elladan quietly. His grey eyes were narrowed in intense concentration and thought. "Unless it's not them."

The suggestion seemed to dissolve and fall into the thick air of the morning atmosphere and no one even dared to acknowledge it for a moment, afraid of having to face a false hope. Staring at the ashes as though they might be a veiled portal to another world with Estel and Legolas on the other side, everyone refused to make eye contact, afraid of seeing confirmation that this wasn't made by the two friends. It was easier, for the time being to believe that it was made by Estel and Legolas.

Unfortunately there were no prints in the grass, so they couldn't tell. Not that Legolas really left much of a depression on any surface anyway, but Aragorn's boots would have made an indentation of some sort. It would have been even better if the two had decided to eat or accidentally left something behind, but apparently they were in a real hurry still as they had been for the past few months.

Finally Roth spoke up, unable to bear the torturous silence very long. "I think it was them. It matches the pace they have been setting for the past few weeks. I am just thinking that maybe they had to leave earlier for some strange reason this time. But I do believe we nearly had them this time."

Elladan stared at Roth for a moment, obviously trying to decide if the clumsy warrior was sane or not, and must have left the decision at a draw because he replied shortly, "Maybe. It is probably best we go on."

Elrohir sighed and Roth just shook his head. "Do you ever wonder how things are going back home?" The mortal Elf watched the twins curiously as they stood up, brushing off their leggings hastily with their hands.

Elrohir answered a bit tiredly. "Sometimes." Elladan just cast him an annoyed look, obviously working to get the point across that he didn't want to discuss this right now and would much rather not even think about it. Rothinzil nodded, in accord with Elrohir.

However, trying to appease Elladan's morbid mood, both younger Elves said no more about their thoughts of home, whatever they may be. They had trouble enough without getting in a conflict among themselves.

**TBC….**

**Hehehehehe, first of all, we want to thank you for all the wonderful reviews that you sent for the first chapter. ;) They were very encouraging and we enjoyed each and every one of them. However, if you were anonymous and didn't leave an e-mail address, we were unable to respond, so thank you to: _Renee, Mrs. Bloom, Grania, Sienna Woods_, and _memyselfandi_. We wish we could have responded to you guys! ;) **

**Secondly, please review! We would love to hear from all of you readers! You really make our week special until we post again! –smiles- but we don't need to tell you that! LOL**

**Lastly, we have a note to clear up any misconceptions. These orcs that captured Legolas cannot possibly be Uruk Hai. They were not created until the War of the Ring and so it would be a bit premature to have Legolas and Aragorn discover them now, would it not? All orcs from Mordor are Uruks, ones from underground are Goblins. ;) **


	3. You Won't Face this World Alone

**Introducing…chapter three! Yay! Thanks again to our beta, Nyctea Scandiaca! She is wonderful! **

**Enjoy, and please review! ;) **

_I Will Always Return_

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**CHAPTER THREE**

You Won't Face This World Alone

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All of Legolas' instincts were screaming at him to turn around and bolt and his reflexes were tense as he stood between two men, their hands on his shoulders, keeping him held firmly in place. Ceorl had left to make sure everything was ready, but he had told Deor explicitly that Legolas was to be bound hand and foot and chained to an iron link at the back of the cave, where he was certain that the prince would find no escape. Of course, a guard was to be posted at all times with absolutely no exceptions, under pain of death.

There were just two problems with these orders. The main one being that Legolas did not want to go into that cave and that there was almost no way to force an Elf, even a bound and wounded one, to do something that he really didn't want to do, unless you used brute force. The second problem was that, contrary to Legolas' first impression, Deor was deviously intelligent and more than a little power hungry. Giving him absolute control over a captive was like tempting a shark with blood; it just wasn't a good choice.

Whether it was because he had felt inferior since he was a child or because he was just simply sick minded and without a cure, Legolas didn't know, but the human seemed to enjoy putting others down, especially by way of physical coercion. If Ceorl had known this he would have never placed Deor in charge but it was too late and it was also very likely that the blonde man would never know.

Deor stood before Legolas, watching him with a grave expression. He no longer even looked the idiot he had seemed before. Hands held behind his back, he rocked back on his heels as he almost gloated to the Elf, "My orders were explicit. You are to be bound and chained in that cave."

Legolas was quiet for a moment before he raised his brows and said matter-of-factly, "I am not going into that cave."

The reaction he received was almost humorous. Obviously this had not been the retort Deor had been anticipating and he looked blank for a minute. Either he had thought Legolas would simply be silent or that he would make some witty remark. "Well that is too bad, Elf, because I am in charge and I am telling you that you are going into that cave and you will be bound and if you don't comply soon I can arrange for some grim consequences." He stared into Legolas' eyes with dead seriousness. "It would behove you to obey, Legolas. I don't make promises I can't and won't keep and I am promising you that your struggles are futile and in the end they will only make things worse."

Legolas seemed to be mulling things over in his mind for a moment. Finally he spoke in a surly way, spitting accurately at the human in front of him. "_Adan_, when this is all over you will find I keep my promises as well and I am promising you that I will not make this easy for you and that you will pay for it in the end."

"Sadly, I never expected less from something like _you_," Deor responded smoothly, nodding to the three men holding the Elf. "Get him into that cave."

Legolas bucked, throwing his head back in their grasps and dug his feet into the ground. He was as strong as at least two men, being an Elf and he had been entirely serious not making this easy for them. They just didn't seem to understand exactly what he had meant.

Deor watched things calmly for about one minute before his face flushed red either in anger or humiliation and he seethed. "He is just _one_ Elf! Get him in there now!" Looking at Legolas, his eyes reflected the misery he was going to make sure this Elf went through every day until he was killed.

One of the men grabbed the back of Legolas' head by his hair, pulling on it viciously and yanking Legolas' head back so that his throat was fully exposed and his chin was pointed towards the sky. This held off most of the Elf's struggles because in this position it wouldn't be hard for the men to snap Legolas' neck. As defiant as Legolas was, he was going to try and stall death for as long as possible. Survival was more important at this point than stubbornness.

In the end though, Deor was forced to get two more men from the cave to come and bodily force Legolas through its mouth and to the back. All in all, it took five humans to force the Elf in and another two to properly secure him so he wouldn't rush out.

Glaring at the Elf, Deor drew his hand back and smacked it across Legolas' face, causing the prince to stumble against the wall. Bound as he was, Legolas only barely caught himself. The man's hit had not missed the welt on his face from where his bow had snapped across his cheek bone and it hurt surprisingly more than Legolas had thought it would. He tasted blood and felt his stricken cheek grow hot.

But the man didn't stop there, he was not yet through with this Elf that had caused him humiliation in front of all these other men and decided to make things as difficult as possible. Pulling Legolas away from the wall by his tunic front, the human hit him across the face again, snapping Legolas' face sharply to the side. Doing this repeatedly, the human only stopped when blood ran from Legolas' nose and mouth. He stepped back and watched as Legolas' eyes glittered angrily, but with slightly more moisture than had glistened in them moments ago.

Stunned, Legolas was hardly aware that the men were pressing him to the ground and binding his feet tightly about the ankles. His ropes that bound his hands were severed only to be replaced by rusty but highly effective manacles that were snapped on far too tight. The abrasive rock of the wall rubbed against the sore and swollen skin of his lacerated arm, causing it to smart in reprisal.

"That ought to hold you, Legolas, and if you know what is good for you, you will be silent," Deor said calmly, turning his back on the Elf to converse with his human companions.

Legolas took the man's advice for the moment, trying to discern what was being said and seeing if he could ascertain anything valuable about these circumstances. He could easily hear what was being said without his Elvish hearing capabilities, for the cave amplified the sound considerably.

"Send scouts to see if that ranger is following us. If he is, leave signs to draw him in. Make sure none come with him," Deor said slowly. "Ceorl wishes this of you above all things at the moment, I think."

"What should we do with those accompanying him?" asked one of the men, grim with a sallow looking face and sour eyes.

"Kill them, of course. Take no prisoners." He glanced heatedly back at Legolas, who feigned innocence and disinterest. "One is more than enough." If he had been given the chance to have things his way he would have given Legolas over to the orcs but he didn't have the willpower or strength to cross Ceorl. Besides, he and Ceorl had been friends since they were Riders in training and quarrelling over such petty differences would only destroy what portion of that friendship was left. To be honest, it really wasn't much.

Becoming aware of the blood trickling down his face, Legolas twisted his neck and wiped the blood on the shoulder of his outer tunic, not being able to use the back of his hand. He didn't appreciate that look in the least, he decided absentmindedly.

"Aye, Deor. If you say so," said the man in response to the other, though it sounded a bit reluctant.

"Good then, see that it is done." Deor brushed the men off literally with a wave of his hand, preparing to tend to the Elf which he had temporarily left alone tied to the wall.

The men seemed to either get the message they were not wanted or understood what Deor wanted to do and left without exchanging any more words with anyone. Either way, Deor wasn't unpleased and he turned around to look at Legolas. The Elf could claim that he wasn't scared, but Deor could tell that Legolas would like to be anywhere but here. If the Elf could become invisible with the wall then he would have had done so a long time ago.

"Well, now we have some time to get to know one another, wouldn't you agree, Legolas?" Deor questioned, tucking some of Legolas' loose golden hair behind his pointed ear in a cold gesture of mock cordialness.

Legolas pulled away as far as possible, indisposed to let this human lay a finger on him. If looks could kill then Deor would have dropped dead on the spot. "Do not touch me!" He snapped the warning tartly, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice. Memories of Harad, especially of Sarchel and his unique forms of interrogation were returning and he was frightened, those being some of the last reflections that he would ever wish to relive.

The man smiled at the helplessness of his captive, flicking one of Legolas' pointy ears, trying to provoke the Elf.

Legolas might have been able to help his reaction except for his fear and he warned again, this time in a lower and more serious voice. "Don't touch me!" Legolas' hands clenched above his head as he tried to pull back further only to feel icy stone at his back the more he tried to struggle backward. The stone was unyielding. There was no where to go.

Legolas' warnings fell on deaf ears. Grabbing a lock of Legolas' hair, he pulled the lengthy strand taut, exposing its distance end to end. Smiling, he let it fall and watched as Legolas worked to remain cold and belaying, almost like a statue.

"You seem upset Legolas. Why is that?" the human questioned, smiling as Legolas gave him an irritated stare.

"I specifically demanded not to be touched, human. Are you deaf or just plain stupid?" His retort was short, but so was his temper.

Deor's smile melted off his face and he took out his knife without so much as exchanging another word with the Elf, who obviously had gone a bit too far with his witty remarks.

Legolas didn't move a muscle, he didn't even blink but inside he was cringing simply at the thought that these humans possessed knives. Why was it always the insane people who managed to get a hold of a knife and knew exactly how to use it to cause the most pain? Altogether Ceorl had done very little damage, at least in comparison to Sarchel but that was like comparing an unripe apple to a ripe one, Legolas imagined. Give the other time and it would grow to be just as big. Give a wicked human time, and he could be just as nasty as the next.

He didn't know where this was all going to go but he knew that the results were definitely not going to be ones he would appreciate. Watching the man intently, as a dog watches a master who had beaten it too many times, Legolas noticed that the look in his eyes was controlled somehow and not as full of bloodlust as he had feared. All the same, he did not like the expression on the man's face as he stepped so that he was towering directly above the Elf and then stooped to his level, with his breath rushing down Legolas' neck.

The prince squirmed away, annoyed and alarmed. His body's natural response to fear was unavoidable and he couldn't stop his heart as it began to hammer in his chest as it reacted with the adrenaline being released into his system. "Leave me alone," he demanded briskly, smothering his old memories one by one, as quickly as he was able.

Deor shook his head. "I am not going to seriously hurt you, I just am curious how you would look with –well… a different hair cut. You couldn't be too different from us if one chooses to disregard your pointy ears. Oh! We can get rid of those too!" He announced cheerfully, watching Legolas' face with jovial smile.

Legolas swallowed quietly, knowing as any Elf would that his ears were one of the most sensitive parts of his body. He glared at the blonde man, feeling insulted despite his anxiety. He was still far different from them and there were some things that were incapable of change, no matter how much you mutilated the outside. But that didn't matter and even though finding solace in that knowledge, it couldn't help him escape the pain that would come. If the man chose to remove the tips from his ears that the prince had always been rather proud of, then Legolas would be completely helpless to prevent it.

The men that had been loitering around in the cave, with nothing else to do took a sudden interest in what their second in command was doing in the rear of the grotto and gradually made their way over, joking and shoving one another as they went. A few shoved their companions purposefully close to Legolas and sometimes right into him, jarring his damaged ribs and injured arm so that he was forced to grit his teeth. Leaning his head back against the stone, the Elf wondered what all was going to happen next. He didn't expect anything good to come of bored, treacherous men capable of having some entertainment only at the expense of a hated prisoner.

They were all crowding around him now, and the Elf felt a thrill of fear ripple through his body as memories of this many men in proximity returned, causing him to shiver involuntarily. He was in Harad again and it seemed as though the small door he had entered through was getting smaller, closing off his escape. He could quite possibly be trapped here forever… could die here.

Legolas had been so buried in memories that he hadn't even realized that his breathing was no longer under his control and had sped up slightly to keep up with the racing of his heart, much to Deor's amusement. "Afraid, Legolas?" he questioned, his dark eyes glittering evilly.

Gaining control of his breathing once more so that he was capable of an answer that wouldn't be accompanied by a gasp or shudder, Legolas managed, "Not of you, Adan."

Deor paused and then his smile broadened devilishly. "Then what are you afraid of?" For a moment he looked deceptively like a mother, trying to comfort a frightened child.

Feeling disinclined to answer, Legolas just diverted his eyes and _thought_ of Aragorn. He would die before he let this man know that he was terrified of Aragorn coming here.

Deor wasn't even watching his captive anymore. His fingers were gliding cautiously along the silvery edge of his long and almost Elvish looking knife, as though deciding whether it was sharpened enough or not. He must have decided that indeed it was, and then he turned to Legolas with a twisted smile that reminded the prince of a snarling warg that was playing with its prey in a game it knew that it was going to win.

Some men voluntarily came forward without a signal from their second-in-command, apparently sensing his need and their hands firmly gripped Legolas' shoulders, digging in so hard that the prince was sure that they were going to leave some minor bruises. His joints complained slightly as the humans' fingers found painful ways of digging into them and the Elf frowned, never taking his eyes off Deor. Inside, he was growing more and more uneasy at the restraining grips that he couldn't free himself of.

This human was going to die someday, but Legolas preferred that he would be around to see it. _That _would be satisfaction indeed! Unfortunately he had a feeling that these two mortals, Ceorl and Deor, would end up outliving him and a disappointed look momentarily flittered across his face.

Deor laid the knife gently on the dirt near Legolas' feet and moved his hands towards the Elf's face, causing Legolas to withdraw in mild irritation. Deor only growled sharply under his breath in annoyance and grabbed a handful of Legolas' hair, jerking the Elf's head closer so that he could get his hands on the prince's braids. Yanking the tie that held the largest of the three, he allowed it to fall about the captive's shoulders, concealing the smaller two by mistake. But that was only a minor problem that was soon set right when he swished the Elf's long hair to the side with a swipe of his hand and then, forcefully freed the smaller two on either side of Legolas' head, so that the full length of his hair was exposed.

Glaring like a livid feline, the Elf sighed in exasperation, barely able to be grateful that this was all they were doing so far. He had a feeling that Deor was afraid to actually cross Ceorl and that his boss wanted him in one piece still.

Deor grabbed another long lock of Legolas' hair, ruthlessly pulling it taut so that it drew against his scalp, forcing him to flinch slightly. Placing the extremely sharp blade of his knife that he had retrieved from the floor, beneath the golden strands, Deor applied pressure. A cold smile bloomed on his face and the laughter of the men echoed through Legolas' ears and mind as the blade severed through his hair. Deor didn't stop there but proceeded to another lock and another cut and from there went on to the rest of Legolas' once long and beautiful hair.

Soon there was eight to nine inches taken off all the way around and Legolas was forcing back a flush of humiliation. He would never live this down, which, he realized, might not matter too much because he wouldn't get the chance to live very long anyway.

The laughs of the men were the hardest thing to bear and then he saw Doer step back and observe his handiwork with pride and satisfaction. The more his grin broadened the redder Legolas' cheeks became. He was unable to prevent it and the prince wished he could become invisible and from there just curl up and die. The men holding his shoulders inadvertently dug their fingers deeper into joints and skin as they laughed uncontrollably, deepening Legolas' hot flush.

"Not so pretty now, hey, Legolas?" Deor taunted, realizing that this had upset the Elf very much whether the immortal had admitted it or not. But, Deor told himself, the Elf still had a lingering beauty that seemed to hover around him and with his hair cut it only seemed to serve to make his blue eyes glow ten times as bright, making them look much more virulent in his anger.

His smile fading, Deor stepped over to the side of the prince and none too carefully, gripped the delicate pointy tip of one of Legolas' ears, pleased when the Elf attempted to withdraw from the man's tightening grip. "They say an Elf's ear is the most sensitive part of their body," he mused openly, watching as Legolas suddenly seemed to shrink into himself.

Legolas' face went noticeably pale and his eyes grew wide in a sort of helpless terror. He would take a beating and being cut with knives over this any time. He knew the pain this would create would receive nothing short of a scream from his throat and a cold chill clattered up and down his spine. He was barely able to restrain an involuntary shudder, but he knew the man felt his tensed muscles. This was not something that Legolas could hide.

He managed to demand heatedly in his near panic, "Do not touch me!" He didn't care too much for Ceorl but at the moment he was fairly missing the human.

"You would feel so much better in our company Legolas if you simply looked like us," Doer explained, as though that should be reason enough for this, even if they were friends which they obviously were not.

"Release my ear, human," Legolas tone had taken a desperate and lethal ring as he tried to intimidate them into letting him be. Glaring caustically around his shortened hair that had slipped into his eyes, the Elf looked almost like he might actually _bite_ somebody at any given moment.

"Legolas, you are in no position to be giving orders," the chestnut haired human reminded him in an agitated tone, not wanting to delay the fun any longer, like an anxious, spoiled child during a holiday.

"You are in no position to be touching me," Legolas answered bitterly, trying once more to pull away and with no success. Finding that he was trapped, Legolas resisted the urge to blanch and instead threatened adamantly, "Your leader would have your hide on the walls of this cave if you touched me."

Deor paused, slowly looking Legolas in the eye in deliberate manner. The ecstasy of the men around them seemed to cease as their second in command's distress passed through them as well. "Legolas," he said slowly, as though wearily. "You know nothing of Ceorl and his plans."

Deor was so intent on staring Legolas down that he didn't notice the men parting all around him as though they were butter being cleaved with a knife. He especially didn't hear their anxious murmurs or see the reflection in Legolas' eyes of someone coming up behind.

"And apparently you do not either, Deor," spat an all too familiar voice and Legolas watched as the colour drained from the chestnut-haired man's face as the human struggled to hold his surprise in check.

Yielding his grip on Legolas' ear, knocking Legolas' head against the wall slightly as he did so, the man spun around to meet his leader. His defiant, cool facial expression had morphed into one of apologies and near remorse. Ceorl had returned sooner than expected.

Ceorl at least was pleased that Deor wasn't denying anything or arguing or even worse –trying to explain things. He had simply stopped what he was doing.

Legolas shook his head ever so slightly, trying to gradually relieve it of the pulsing pain. It had almost been gone, or at least been unnoticed, but the contact his head had made with the rough stone had refuelled it once more. Blinking, he took a keen interest in the two men before him.

Ceorl looked at the golden locks of hair that littered the floor and kicked one with his boot. Glancing at Legolas with an indifferent expression, he then turned his gaze back to the men. "Well, you had your fun tonight." Deor just bowed his head deferentially, sheathing his knife and then shooting Legolas a hateful and covert glare.

The prince merely twisted his face away in refusal to acknowledge the gesture, putting up his nose in protest.

"Deor, I want you to go and lay some snares around the place, just in case we have company." Ceorl's voice was commanding and yet soft. The chestnut-haired man didn't question it but scuttled out in a hurry to do the other man's bidding.

Turning to Legolas, the blonde commander snapped his hand back and cracked Legolas across the face. Legolas cried out softly at the abrupt assault. There was no way the Elf could have braced himself for it. The sound of the man's hand connecting with his cheek seemed to echo through the cave and all the men turned from where they had been walking away and stared for a few moments before leaving their commander to his work.

"Legolas, were there any others with you and Thorongil that I haven't seen? Don't you lie to me, unless you want to resume with me what Deor had been thoughtful enough to start." The warning was severe and Legolas blinked, wondering what had provoked such a question from this human. It certainly didn't make sense in his mind.

Straightening himself up against his bonds and the rock that he was attached to, the Elf answered honestly even though he didn't expect to be believed. "No. None at all." His voice was soft and his own curiosity was unmistakable, if one was willing to listen.

Ceorl was not willing to listen. He had already made up his mind and there was precious little that Legolas could do to change it.

Sighing, the prince knew this as soon as the man shook his head and opened his mouth. It was the same old story and Legolas was so tired of them that he could spit but all that he did was clench his jaw and steel himself for the human's response.

Ceorl frowned angrily, perhaps in frustration. "Legolas, you know your friend will be here soon. Before tomorrow, actually." His frown darkened with his eyes and turned into an all-out scowl, like the look of murky and ominous clouds before the breaking of a storm. "He isn't working alone and his helpers aren't Rohirrim."

Legolas couldn't say he knew a thing about what Ceorl spoke. "There was no one else, human. What is so hard about that phrase that you can't understand?" He pressed his back further against the wall, trying to take some of the pressure from his aching wrists by finding another means to support his body. He could no longer feel his fingers.

Ceorl just growled under his breath. "Legolas, the others…three of them are Elven. That means that they came from Mirkwood, where I know you came from."

Legolas shook his head, prepared to clear up this misunderstanding that was so commonly made by humans. "No, it doesn't. There are many Elven realms. Mine is one of many." There as no use denying that he had come from Mirkwood. That had been told earlier. And anyway, his name didn't seem to mean overly much to this man.

"You lie," Ceorl hissed, his patience quickly waning. He had never been a patient man and in especially now he was no exception. His bloodied arm was still cradled but with his other one he proceeded to slap Legolas again, knocking his face back against the rock and opening an abrasion on his temple.

But he didn't stop there and when the Elf had scarcely recovered he shot his hand out, grasping Legolas' throat and pressing his fingers into the Elf's windpipe, nearly collapsing the narrow tunnel.

Legolas had received no breath before hand and he jerked back frantically but was unable to dislodge the man's iron grip, no matter how he twisted. He could feel his lungs begging for oxygen that he couldn't give them and his muscles began to jerk as he struggled with the death hold. His hands clenched tightly above his head so that their knuckles turned white and desperately, Legolas kicked his bound feet together in an attempt to wedge them against the man and pry him free.

All attempts were futile and Legolas was quickly becoming exhausted, with no way to replenish the non-existent supply of oxygen in his lungs. Soft, filmy black material was sliding around the edges of his eyes, gradually seeping in towards the centre, obscuring his vision and blinking did nothing to dispel it. His mouth was opening and closing convulsively in a frantic attempt to gulp down any amount of air.

Ceorl watched as Legolas struggles became weaker and weaker and his eyes began to turn glassy as the light bled out of their depths. The prince's face was turning from a purplish colour to white…

Ceorl relinquished his death-hold and it was all Legolas could do to breathe again.

While Legolas strove to re-teach his lungs what it meant to breathe, the blonde man growled, "Now, they came from Mirkwood, who else is with them? What is their goal? Do they know you are missing?"

Managing to clear his head somewhat, Legolas answered tartly, "Why don't you go and ask them?" He didn't understand what this man was talking about and he was becoming frustrated as well as afraid. He couldn't tell the man things that he didn't know and if he made them up he would be in worse trouble.

Ceorl grabbed Legolas' jaw, painfully constricting his fingers around it so that they bit and bruised his skin despite the riding glove on the man's hand. Forcing Legolas' chin up so that the prince was forced to lock eyes with him, the human glared angrily. "Legolas, you are at the edge of the world now, there is no help for you here. You claim not to have answers but I know better. Three dark-haired Elves and you can't tell me anything about them?" he asked incredulously, giving Legolas' chin a downward thrust as he released it. "You are a liar."

For a split second understanding dawned on Legolas and a look of comprehension flickered across his fair face. He was unable to disguise it in time to hide the fact that he knew something now, whether he had before or not and Ceorl smiled coldly.

_/The twins and Rothinzil! Valar, they would venture out to do something like this, wouldn't they? I cannot let them fall into this trap. It is bad enough Aragorn is going to walk right into it for me, but not them too./ _

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Aragorn was scared, scared of losing everything.

There was a heavy weight of helplessness that was tearing at his heart knowing that he was coming close to reaching his friend and on the other hand having no idea what would happen next. His heart reminded him that the Elf was alive but he knew that Legolas could not possibly be well.

He had asked himself what he would ever do if Legolas died… just once he had dared the question. The answer had been immediate. He would be incomplete. He couldn't go forward with life and simply forget about the Elf and he couldn't remember Legolas without forcing himself to be incomplete and broken.

Looking out desolately at the boulders and other jumbled rocks that were overgrown with grass, the man knew that this was it. Here was where he knew they had taken his friend, probably for the fortification and security of the caves that lined the area. Caves… Legolas hated caves.

Not prepared to leave his friend in the dark and having no intention of doing any such thing to begin with, Aragorn started to press forward.

There was a series of three twangs and the man pulled his horse still, his heart beat increasing steadily as the silence around him even seemed ominous. Three arrows were embedded up to their feathers in a small knoll close by and he stared curiously in the direction the shots had come from.

The human's jaw dropped and he felt himself shaking all over. "Elladan," he breathed, almost falling from his horse' back in his shock. "Elrohir… Rothinzil!"

The three Elves had finally managed to catch up to Legolas and Aragorn's trail and shouldering their bows, they rushed forward.

Aragorn dismounted as fast as he knew how and ran, meeting them halfway. Elladan embraced him first, coddling the human, whom he considered to be his youngest brother, against him in a warm hug. Feeling Aragorn bury his face in his tunic, Elladan gave a quiet chuckle that soon ceased as he noticed what Elrohir and Roth had noticed almost immediately.

The ranger's shoulders were shaking and it wasn't from any form of laughter. The man was crying. Glancing around worriedly, the elder Elf missed seeing Legolas' face and sighed heavily, easing himself gently away from Aragorn and allowing him a better look around. Where was that Wood-Elf?

A sickening feeling pulled at the centre of his stomach and he and Elrohir exchanged sorrowful glances before the silence was ruptured by Rothinzil's crestfallen voice. "But he **_is_** around somewhere? Isn't he?" The dejected expression mingled with disbelief that filled Roth's eyes tore at Aragorn's already lacerated heart as he realized he couldn't tell Rothinzil "yes".

Looking away, Aragorn walked slowly over to stand beside Elladan, who was staring intently at their surroundings as if it would explain everything. "I lost him, Elladan. We were so close to coming home and I…I wanted to help the Rohirrim. Mordor is giving them trouble and they are having trouble from within. I thought…I thought that Legolas and I could change things… The orcs…" Aragorn drew a deep breath that he knew would be required to bring him to say what he was about to. "The orcs captured him but they didn't keep him. Someone else has him."

No one said anything at first. No one had to. They all knew the gravity of the situation without a single word between them.

Roth's face had gone white, as though some deep wound had drained his blood from his body. Fearing that the mortal Elf wouldn't be able to stand on his own for much longer and that the distressing news was taking its toll, Elrohir placed an assuring hand on the other's arm and squeezed gently. Roth accepted the solace it offered, even though at the moment all he desired was to be alone. He knew his friend's intentions and they were well enough and he didn't want to hurt Elrohir's feelings.

Elladan simply looked as though he had been punched in the gut and he nodded in understanding. "How long ago was this?" He knew it couldn't have been more than a day or so ago. "We have been hard on your trail for some time, Estel… -ur Thorongil," he corrected, trying to build up the habit while in Rohan, understanding this to be Aragorn's pseudo name.

"It was just last night," Aragorn answered softly, feeling relief washing through him now that his brothers were here. He didn't feel so helpless anymore even if he still felt sick. Suddenly he noticed Elladan's firm and inquiring look and the man furthered his explanations. "We were passing through Rohan, when some Rohirrim came and surrounded us -King Thengel himself." He mentioned nothing of Legolas man handling, fearing to set Elladan's anger off too soon and that the older Elf wouldn't listen to him. Cautiously, Aragorn completed, "They were having trouble with the Dark Lord. He wants their darker horses… they refused. Now they are paying the price. I want to help them and I thought I could. Legolas wanted to go home. I told him he should… he wouldn't leave-"

"Did you expect him to?" Roth cut in brutally, irritated and feeling like his heart had been torn from his chest and stomped flat. When Aragorn merely shook his head and cast a set of guilty and almost wet eyes on him, Roth just scowled and lashed out verbally, "He is your best friend! He would die for you! And you knew he would follow you into a dragon's throat if you led him there!"

Aragorn winced under the harsh accusations, blanching as he realized that he might have taken advantage of their friendship, even if it hadn't been his intent. Elladan came to his brother's defence, glaring daggers at Roth.

"Rothinzil stop this. Estel could never have predicted any of this! You know that! Now let him finish!" the older twin demanded, forgetting to use Aragorn's alias in the heat of the situation. Feeling Aragorn's distress, he subconsciously stepped between the human and Rothinzil. He knew that the dark-haired warrior wasn't angry with Estel but considering the circumstances, but he also knew that Aragorn was going to bear the brunt of it nevertheless.

Aragorn took this opportunity to finish his explanations even if they were more hurried than before. "We were heading towards Snowbourn and were intercepted by orcs. They set fire to the grass and Legolas was captured and maybe even wounded. The fire absorbed all sounds and I never knew until it was too late. But I followed and discovered something strange." All eyes were on him now, but he didn't notice and his heart raced in excitement and fear for his friend. "He was traded off to some men I think… Rohirrim traitors perhaps."

Elladan openly shook his head while Elrohir verbally objected, "Are you sure? The Rohirrim are a proud and honest people."

Aragorn conceded the point with a nod but then quickly wondered aloud. "What if not all of them are purely Rohirrim? If they had a score to settle with Rohan it would make sense that they would do it now, while the trouble seems to have been accredited purely to the Dark One."

Elladan still seemed disinclined to agree so easily. "How do you know it was Rohirrim men? It could have been others? What is it that makes you think he was exchanged?" He needed some more concrete evidence, despite the fact that Aragorn's word alone bore a lot of weight in his heart and mind. He trusted his brother immensely, more than anyone would ever understand, but this was all sounding improbable.

Aragorn looked up at Elladan with pleading eyes and he begged, not caring how he sounded. Things had become far too desperate for that. "Elladan, please, just trust me. You have to. I have learned a lot more about tracking in my time spent at war and I know what I saw. Please. Time is failing us."

Roth stood secluded from the others, arms folded and hood drawn about his face as he purposefully isolated himself, dealing with his frustrating grief the only way that felt feasible at the moment. He felt horrible for lashing out at Aragorn as he had but he had wanted to see Legolas come home. He knew that things were failing in Mirkwood and Legolas needed to be there for his father and his people and it made him angry that because of Aragorn the prince was staying away so long. It was bordering on four years.

Elladan looked at Elrohir with an almost blank expression, remaining stoic. Elrohir's composure and returned gaze retained about the same abundance of stoicism, but he walked over to where Roth had chosen self-seclusion, resembling a depressed recluse. Gripping the younger Elf's arm gently at the sleeve, he gingerly tugged at the warrior as a sign to come along.

Roth resisted for only a couple seconds before he realized he didn't really want to be alone…he just didn't want to be here. Clumsily, he trailed after the younger twin and continued at a slow paced walk behind the others with his cloak hugging him closely.

Aragorn had already relieved the horse of its job, knowing it would only give them away at this point as one could hear a horse miles away if you listened to the ground. It was a luxury and a risk that they could not afford and he was prepared to tote everything on his back if he had to if it meant receiving the vantage point. Besides, there was no point in having a horse because they weren't running away and they wouldn't be running back.

Suddenly he shivered as he watched his brothers' backs. They might not come back.

:0Ї0:

Deor watched curiously as the four figures crossed over the knolls, slinking as though one of the Nine was breathing down their necks and yet moving fast enough to cover a large amount of distance in a short time. He wasn't stupid and it was only obvious why they were heading this way. Who had thought two people, who had accidentally gotten caught up in these affairs could find allies and suddenly become even more of a problem without even trying?

He had only just gotten out and started setting the snares and unfortunately none of them had been placed just yet. There was only one option if he wanted to stop the three Elves and meddling human. It was their skin or his and he was just selfish enough to care less about their predicament.

There was only one problem. At the moment they were out of range of his long bow and most certainly his spears. He also had the common sense to know that in a hand to hand combat situation he would be outmanned and far out skilled.

But his orders were his orders. It would probably be better to kill the Elves and capture the ranger. They had no need for the Elves and he had already discovered that the best Elf was a dead Elf. If you didn't need them alive and you let them live you were buying yourself more trouble than you could pay for and if it had been up to him, dear Legolas would have been dead a long time ago. After all, the ranger was only pursuing the Elf out of a false hope that Legolas could be alive. He had no idea for certain and as long as there was a possibility that Legolas lived, Deor was sure that the ranger would not give up the chase.

Growling angrily as he raised himself off his knees, the chestnut-haired human started his pursuit of the four at a light jog that soon turned into an all out sprint as he was forced to keep up with their fast pace. His father, a renowned hunter, had always told him that the prey set the pace of the chase. It was true.

:0Ї0:

It was not long before Deor had managed to get the upper hand on the situation. He could feel sweat trickling down the sides of his face and he frowned, gathering his breath as the four stopped, not to rest but to get their sense of direction and make sure they didn't miss a turn in the trail.

Retrieving his long bow of pure yew-wood from his back, the man smiled wickedly. Running his fingers along the string, he checked its strength and decided that it was in prefect condition. His hands darted behind his back as he fetched a long and slender shaft with a small but lethal head at the end. Notching it, Deor drew the kisser of the bow as well as the feathered portion of the shaft along his cheek.

His eyes squinted as he took careful aim at one Elf's back and then, letting the air steadily out of his lungs, he released and the arrow cut through the air as the bow released with a twang. Not waiting to see the reaction of the panicked companions or where his shot landed, the man quickly extracted another arrow from his full quiver and prepared to shoot again.

Elladan lurched forward, crashing against Aragorn with a surprised and curious expression on his face. His eyes held the human's and he stood there on his own for a few seconds and then crumpled in his adoptive brother's arms like a dropped rag doll. His body was shaking and Aragorn caught him. "Elladan?" he asked his older brother in shock, not understanding until he saw the shaft stick out of Elladan's back.

Gaping for a moment, it took Aragorn a couple of seconds to understand how lucky Elladan had actually been that the arrow had not hit his spine and severed it in two. All the same, it had only missed it by a couple inches at the most and there was no saying that the son of Elrond would live, even if he was in the most capable hands.

His brother's blood flooded over his hand and Aragorn felt the heat of it against his chest. The arrow had gone through to the other side.

Elrohir came over, clumsily shoving Aragorn away and gathering up Elladan all at once. There were tears brimming in his confused and bright grey eyes that broke Aragorn's heart. He had only seen Elrohir cry once or twice and never like this. Elladan connected his filming eyes with Elrohir's dreamily, as though he still didn't understand, which was true. He had no idea what had hit him.

Blinking, Aragorn staggered away from the scene, staring at the blood on his hands only to hear another abrupt cry and out of the corner of his eye a shape fell to the earth, clutching at his shoulder. "Rothinzil!" Aragorn yelled, hardly realizing he had even opened his mouth.

The dark-haired warrior merely gasped, his eyes registering both pain and horror. Staring into the wide hazel eyes, Aragorn could tell the Elf was asking for help but Aragorn seemed rooted to the spot. His friends and family were being shot but no one had even attempted to end his life.

Rushing to Roth's assistance, the ranger kneeled by his side, gently but quickly prying the Elf's long and bloodied fingers away form the shoulder wound. "It isn't bad Roth. You'll be all right. Just relax and slow your heart beat down." Experienced in healing, Aragorn knew that the Elf needed to level his heartbeat and slow his blood flow from the wound.

Roth complied, knowing Aragorn's capabilities and trusting them. Staring past the ranger , he whispered, "Strider, that sniper is after us, not you. He had some good shots at you and he didn't-"the Elf's words were broken off as Aragorn pushed the arrow through and then extracted it in a brief moment of intense pain. Roth's fingers clawed up grass as he suppressed a cry of ardent agony. "He wants you alive," the dark-haired warrior finished breathlessly.

He tried to struggle up, just as stubbornly as Legolas might have but Aragorn didn't have to expend too much effort to restrain him. Pressing his hands against Roth's good shoulder and his chest, the man demanded, "Stay on the ground. You are safer. He may think you are dead."

Roth complied reluctantly, not liking the feeling of uselessness that was creeping over him. For a moment he contemplated disobeying the minute Aragorn's back was turned but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted.

Elrohir was still cradling Elladan when the shaft struck him; throwing his brother from his grasp and slamming the younger brother forward almost over top the other. Elladan looked around rapidly, his eyes clouded with pain and his breathing shallow and sporadic. When he saw Elrohir's face crumple as a shaft buried itself in his back, snapping against the younger Elf's scapula, Elladan suddenly felt sick. He couldn't tell if the tears shimmering in his younger brother's eyes were because he had been shot or because Elrohir was in agony. It was probably both.

Elrohir, realizing his wound had not been fatal, forced himself to move past the sharp and blazing pain in his shoulder and struggled to get off of Elladan, afraid he would do his brother more harm. It felt as though his shoulder blade had been shattered but he could still move his arm with relative ease if he ignored his pain and the tenderness of the muscles surrounding it. Hot blood oozed around the arrow and soaked into his tunic and cloak.

Elladan saw what Elrohir was doing and grabbed his arm desperately. "No. Don't move. He will shoot again and this time you may not be so lucky." The older twin closed his eyes shortly, trying to suppress the agony coursing through his body in shocking waves. Opening them again after a moment, he sought Aragorn, who was crouched low beside him obviously preparing to extricate the arrow from his back.

Placing a shaking, white hand over Aragorn's, Elladan murmured, "You must leave us here-"

"At the mercy of a man who is wholly bereft of it?" Aragorn asked incredulously, not even looking at his brother.

"Yes. Estel, Legolas needs you. If you don't make it back to him, not one of us will. My heart tells me this: that if you are captured he will die and so will you." Elladan's voice was raspy and low, as though he was being strangled in a noose and a cold sweat pooled on his brow even as the colour left this lips.

Aragorn saw a clear picture of all this before everything sort of blurred and merged. A tear fell from his face and splashed against Elladan's white cheek and he choked back a sob, shoulders shaking as he knew his brother was right. Elladan forced his eyes to remain open.

"I can't, Elladan. I can't leave you here…"

"But you can't leave Legolas with them. He fears men, Estel –or at least their darker sides. He is alone. Don't leave him there for me or any of us. Bring him home. All is going badly in Mirkwood."

"Elladan…" Aragorn didn't mean to drag this on, but he didn't know how to let his brother go. He didn't want to trust to fate…it was too unpredictable and cruel.

Elladan murmured gently as he slowly shut his eyes, "You have learned almost everything in your journey. You have grown, little brother. But you still don't know how to say goodbye."

Aragorn didn't even bother to blink back further tears but let them spill, falling like rain onto Elladan's pasty face before running down it. The elder twin opened his eyes again at their cold, wet touch and splatter, staring up into Aragorn's face with a serene expression. He loved that human more than the man would ever know and right now he wished more than ever that he could find the right words to say.

Elrohir just looked at Estel with a promise in his eyes. "I won't let him die, Estel. This I swear by my grandfather's star." He suddenly shifted his gaze to behind Aragorn where Roth was, seeing the Elf laying still on the grass, his eyes staring up at nothing. "Is he-"

Aragorn cut his brother off. "No. He is merely pretending." Grabbing Elrohir's hand, ignoring how Elladan's blood made his grip slippery at best, the man begged with is eyes before he spoke. "Promise me that you all will live through this. Promise me, Elrohir!"

Elrohir nodded shakily, anxious to see Aragorn on his way before that archer arrived to see his handiwork. "Yes –yes I _promise_. Now go, before we are all caught!" he implored the ranger desperately.

Aragorn held Elrohir's gaze for a moment longer before he turned his face away, ripping himself away from his brothers and Rothinzil. He had to go. Time was too precious to waste and swallowing back any misgivings and horror he felt about the situation, Aragorn began to run towards the direction they had decided on heading before Elladan had been shot down. A look of desperation and determination blended in his eyes and on his face while the wind of his speed whipped his unkempt hair back behind his neck.

Suddenly the man was bowled over, tumbling head over heals down the small knoll and winding up flat on his back with the wind having escaped his lungs. Gasping a short breath, the man didn't know what had hit him.

Deor saw his vantage point and drew his sword, tossing his spear and bow idly to the side and standing before the ranger with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Ceorl wants you alive. He wants you and the Elf to die together, so you can look into each other's face and read the failure in both of your eyes before they close forever."

Aragorn's eyes became lit as though with fire at the mention of his friend's captivity. Stumbling up without a second thought, the ranger drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance. "Legolas is coming home with me!" He snarled savagely, ready to deal out death to anything that got in his way.

"Oh yes," Deor sneered malevolently, as he prepared to fight the ranger and drag him to their lair. "You will both be going home…to your final home. Ceorl has plans and he can't afford your interference. I doubt that if he let you both go you would simply ignore the situation here, as does he."

Aragorn didn't respond, not having time to pay any heed to the man's presumptuous goading. Raising his blade, he prepared for Deor to make this first move but it was an agony to wait out the seconds that seemed hours. He had a sinking feeling that Legolas needed him desperately right at this exact moment and here he was, fighting a traitor and a madman.

Roth, having raised himself up from the ground, glanced over at Aragorn with narrowed eyes that were slightly glassed over in pain. Identifying the problem, a small growl rose in the Elf-warrior's throat as he realized this human was getting in the way of his friend and of his prince's rescue.

Despite his agonizing pain and the stiff feeling seeping into the joint of his shoulder, Roth reached for his bow that had miraculously remained unbroken and on his back along with his quiver, which was still plentiful. Grasping the smooth, pliable wood, he swung it free, and then reached for an arrow.

Every movement was an agony to his upper body and he hissed softly between his clenched teeth. Notching the arrow into the string, he willed an unsteady peace throughout his body as he pulled the shaft back and lined up the chestnut-haired man in his sights. Releasing his air seconds before the projectile, the dark-haired Elf let the shaft fly.

Aragorn stared at Deor with a curious expression as the other human stumbled forward, his feet fumbling beneath him and an astonished look locked on his lifeless face. One large bubble made purely of blood blew through his mouth and then it burst, crimson running down his chin.

Collapsing forward, Deor lay still on his face, a brown and green projectile in his back, piercing through into his heart of cold stone. Shocked, Aragorn barely remembered to sheath his sword.

Stepping backward, away from the corpse, Aragorn's eyes sought out his killer and saw Roth, standing shakily and making his way awkwardly towards the twins, who looked rather satisfied and vindicated by the death of their would-be assassin.

Elrohir was obviously ignoring his own wound; which had not even been tended to yet. He had rolled Elladan onto his back and was feeling around the arrow, figuring out the best possible strategy to extract the projectile.

Having a sudden feeling of peace that seemed to radiate from his brothers and friend, the ranger smiled softly but without amusement, turning away and pelting through the grass into the direction he knew they had taken his friend. In the back of his mind a small cry for help was forcing its way to the front of his thoughts, a call from Legolas that touched his consciousness. It was almost as though they were connected and he could feel the Elf's distress pulsing through his thoughts without relent. Then, came the start of a headache of sympathy,and he was sure that he could_ feel _Legolas' pain.

**TBC….**

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**So long until next Friday!**


	4. I Am Sending You a Message

_I Will Always Return_

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER FOUR**

I Am Sending You a Message

:0Ї0:

Legolas' head lulled to the side, his shorted blonde hair obscuring his bloodied face and his hands were limp above his head where they were secured to two spears pounded into the ground. His weight was supported almost entirely by his bonds and the circulation to his fingers had been severed some time ago. Convulsions wracked his sweaty, bloody body and he couldn't seem to make them stop. Legolas couldn't remember all that they had done to him, only that it had hurt a lot and that he wouldn't want it to happen again even though he knew that it was inevitable that it would. He had told them nothing, which had displeased Ceorl greatly.

But, to be honest, Legolas couldn't help it. He was about one hundred percent certain that the three Elves Ceorl had spoken of were the twins and Rothinzil, but that was only hearsay on his part and he knew assumptions were dangerous things to make. He couldn't be certain about the trio of Elves and even if he was, he wouldn't know whether or not Aragorn knew of them or even what they were doing. Smiling carefully so he wouldn't bust his broken lips open again, he realized he never knew what exactly they were up to even when he was around them for a full day. His gaze hardened. Even if he did know, it was none of Ceorl's business.

Blinking, Legolas lifted his head slightly at the sound of the men rousing in the cave, wincing when that small movement caused him so much pain. Ceorl could give Sarchel a good run for his money when it came to interrogation techniques that were 'clean' but surprisingly effective. Of course that could be because Sarchel had no 'clean' torture techniques. Legolas grimaced as he felt the bruises developing on his fair face where he had been struck repeatedly either by a hand or a riding crop, both of which had hurt enough. It was as though his face was swelling, which was halfway true.

The rest of him hurt as though it was on fire and he knew that at least three ribs were broken, perhaps separated from his sternum. Hissing gently, the prince drew in a rough breath that inflated his lungs and pressed against his injured bones so that he could feel at least one actually shift under his skin. Immediately, he gasped and stifled a sharp cry at the pure agony that exploded in his chest.

Hissing some more, the prince pulled his knees so that that they were directly beneath him and tried to support his reeling body, helping him get more breath. The Elf winced as one of his leggings ripped just above the knee and his skin scraped against the rocky bottom. Even though this additional wound was considerably less serious and smaller than the others he had obtained here, it was the one that was pestering him the most at the moment. The scrape smarted and bled slightly, collecting grime and creating a warm and dirty place to start a splendid little infection.

Lifting his head and staring at the mouth of the cave, Legolas was just in time to catch Ceorl strolling in with a strange human at his heels, looking angrier than a pike out of water. His glance fell upon Legolas and his eyes narrowed as he waded through his men, who quickly observed what was transpiring and parted for him to get through.

He was soon standing by the Elf and drew his knife, severing Legolas' bonds each with one swift 'snick' and allowing the Elf to collapse and tuck his arms around his ribs, hugging them. But that reprieve lasted less than five seconds and then he grabbed what was left of Legolas' tunic, yanking the Elf up so he was stretched to remain on his knees.

"Legolas," his voice was calm. "I am sick of playing games. It was never my intention to hurt you or that ranger friend of yours. As a matter of fact, I didn't even want to kill you, but you got in my way. I was going to make it painless for you and simply slit your throat, but things have gone far past that, haven't they?"

Legolas worked to suppress his fear as he tried to guess where this was going. He could endure some torture, but the allotted time span between his experiences in Harad and here was too scanty for sufficient healing to have taken place. His ribs were more fragile than he was willing to admit, as were other wounds, even if they weren't necessarily visible. If the torment he was convinced they were planning on putting him through lasted too long, he didn't know what would happen.

Since Legolas obviously was not going to speak, Ceorl continued. "Deor hasn't returned and he is far overdue. I am convinced your friends killed him. Deor was never the smartest person in the world, even if he was one of the most ambitious."

"What is it that you want to know?" Legolas asked, his voice bereft of emotion.

"Why are they here? Were they with you to begin with? Where do they come from? What are their intentions?"

Legolas sighed heavily, having expected these same questions once more. How in the name of Elbereth could they expect and answer out of him? "I can't say," he answered simply, not embellishing the response because he knew it to be futile and he wasn't in the mood to bandy words.

"Well you had better try," Ceorl advised darkly, throwing Legolas backwards so he landed on his back, arms spread out in a fruitless attempt to absorb his fall. The impact had jarred Legolas' ribs and his breath was stolen away for a moment.

Ceorl took this opportunity to deliberately rest his foot on the Elf's lean and injured forearm, tearing a cry from the prince as he ground the burned and cut limb agonizingly against the stony floor.

When the blonde man didn't relent, Legolas bit his lower lip in order to withhold more whimpers of pain. He couldn't help it. It seemed like a meagrely effective form of torture but it sincerely worked.

The men of the cave now crowded around, hoping to get some more entertainment out of the affair.

Ceorl was through going about this the easy way. He wanted Legolas to talk and he wanted it now. He was convinced that the prince knew something about those three damned Elves and by the Valar he was going to rip it out of the Elf if it was the last thing he did.

Motioning for one of the bigger men that were in their sad crew of traitors, he smiled a knowing smile. "Come, hold him in place." His command was stern and there was no amusement in his eyes this time. He was dead serious and Legolas panicked as the burley human moved behind him and yanked him into a sitting position.

Feeling himself pulled with his back braced against the man's chest and his arms pinned behind him and feeling the traitor's spongy breath fogging against his neck made Legolas swallow hard. He didn't even let Aragorn do this and he knew full well that the ranger had never meant him harm.

When the large man dragged him in closer Legolas struggled, surging against the man's fierce grip as his heart beat wildly in his chest. Helpless terror seized him as he realized that he was completely powerless now, and everything that had happened in Harad was coming back.

Ceorl didn't even look at him but went over to a blacksmith's leather bag disposed of in a darker corner. It had been brought along in case of some difficulties with the horses' hooves but in this case it was just perfect too. The content of the satchel was certainly not limited to merely items for hooves. Emptying it on the stone floor, causing a loud clatter that bounced eerily off the cave walls, he found what he sought. Running his fingers over the instruments, he selected a brand for no particular reason other than it was the one that he used to mark his horses with.

In a sense this Elf was his.

Legolas saw this and bile rose in his throat and it took him a couple seconds to swallow it back down. He watched with anxiety as the blonde commander went over to a newly stoked fire that wasn't overly large but hot enough and buried the metal design in the glowing embers.

Without turning around, Ceorl instructed gruffly. "Open up his tunic."

The men surrounded the prince like a swarm and forced the tunic layers open. The Elf jerked and withdrew under their ungentle touch as they exposed his lean abdomen down to his waist. There had not been much cloth to strip away. During his first interrogation, a lot of it had been shredded by the cutting strikes of a whip.

Some of the men became impatient with the Elf and batted at his face with their hands. Legolas tried to force himself not to flinch or withdraw as their rough hands struck his ears or hit him across his face creating additional bruises and welts.

Taking all the abuse in silence, Legolas was sure that Ceorl wasn't watching for a reason. He didn't care what happened as long as he didn't have to watch.

Presently, he spoke. "Legolas, since you won't be around long I think I shall confide in you."

The men all stepped away from the Elf as though on command and he was left with a clear line of vision to Ceorl so he could see his captor's face as the man spoke. Legolas remained quiet and allowed him to continue with his admissions, wondering if he might ascertain something that would be to his advantage.

"Do you want to know what we will do when those black horses are sold to Mordor?" he asked; a sneer completely evident in his voice as he turned around and cast Legolas a belligerent grin. "Well, do you?" he barked impatiently. The man holding Legolas twisted his arms tighter behind his back to encourage him to answer. Surprisingly, that small twist was bordering on unbearable as pain shot up the length of his arm.

"I might," Legolas responded evenly, glaring caustically at the man behind him until the human loosened his hold on his arms ever so slightly.

Ceorl seemed only partially satisfied. He was a little disappointed that Legolas had not appeared to have taken more interest. "We will join forces with one of Sauron's new helpers and wage an insurrectionary war on the Riders of the Mark. We will weaken Rohan so that it will fall. We have already made contact with Sharky."

Sharky? Legolas shifted uneasily. He had a feeling that he should know exactly who it was that they were referring to but he had no ideas at all and that left him feeling unsettled. Shifting uneasily, he forced down a lump in his throat that was continually trying to force its way up.

Finally, he ventured to ask, "Who is this Sharky?"

Ceorl glared in irritation, having thought he was going to be the only one to ask the questions here. "I have never met him myself. But that is none of your business and if the messages come back and they demand what I think they will, then you will get to meet him yourself." His retort was cold and forbidding.

"What of Thorongil?" Legolas asked quietly, feeling a ball of ice collecting in the centre of his stomach, freezing his insides.

"Sharky has no use for him. Why should he? After all, it's not everyday that one catches an Elf," Ceorl pointed out frankly. "And there are many uses for your kind, or have you forgotten how orcs were created?"

"But what will become of Thorongil?" Legolas persisted, feeling bile forcing its way up his throat and into the back of his mouth as a warm froth.

"He'll die," Ceorl answered flatly, pulling the brand out of the fire ever so slightly to test it out and see if it was prepared. Disappointed, he placed it back beneath the coals and turned back around, watching Legolas.

Legolas had suspected that already and now his worst fears were coming true. His friend's death was going to be his fault. Their friendship was going to kill the human and he was helpless to thwart it.

Ceorl seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled coldly and in sincere amusement. "Elf, don't worry. It worked both ways. If it weren't for your friendship with him, we would have never found you and managed to capture you. You know Elves typically avoid humans and because of him you practically walked into our hands."

Legolas outwardly ignored this remark but inside he knew it was true. All the same he would have never done anything else. If time was turned back and he was given one single chance to change things he couldn't think of anything he would want to change. As a matter of fact he was certain that he would do it all over again if he was given the chance.

"Why would Sharky want me?" Legolas asked, barely able to keep a tremble out of his voice. The hint about the creation of orcs was terrifying to say the least. He knew that he would never survive that sort of torment and he was terrified of having to go through it even once and terrified of being alone in it.

"Why indeed? Sharky wants to create a new race of orcs, more powerful and able to endure the sunlight. Morgoth messed up when he created orcs out of Elves. Sharky believes that he can fix that through breeding out the genes that make them shun light. For that he will need an Elf of light that shuns darkness." Ceorl checked the brand again as he had been periodically throughout their entire conversation. An emotionless smile crept across his face as he saw the familiar and perfect red glow of the metal. "We are just waiting for the word that he wants you," the man finished almost absentmindedly, drawing out the hot metal.

Legolas swallowed hard, terrified almost beyond reason of the life of torment, darkness and death that lay ahead of him. He was immortal…this could literally last forever. He could only hope that this 'Sharky' was mortal. If he was not…the last resort was that he would have to relinquish his spirit to Mandos. Aragorn could not expect him to be strong and fight his way through this. The human could never appreciate the severity of these circumstances.

Legolas wouldn't allow this Sharky to corrupt his heart or mind, but he couldn't promise that he would remain within the circles of the world. He also wouldn't allow himself to be used to create a race of orcs that would only create a strong assault upon Middle Earth and make Aragorn's job even harder. If he had to die then he would like it to be because he had made Aragorn's hard road to Kingship a little easier.

Ceorl stood, brandishing his brand before him like a proud work of some kind and then began to make his way to where Legolas was restrained.

Legolas bucked wildly, even though he knew it was ultimately futile. The burly man behind him tightened his grip on his arms, pinning him in place while another sat on his bound legs. "If you need me for Sharky, why are you doing this?" he asked as the blonde man crouched by his side, choosing the brand's placement very carefully.

"You never answered my prior questions." His answer was very straightforward, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looked to Legolas to see if the prince was about to spill everything out since it had come down to the wire.

"I can't answer them!" Legolas answered, hiding all the desperation that he felt freezing him inside, locking his muscles.

"Well then, here we go!" Ceorl announced, and he allowed the scorching metal to linger over the selected placement before he brought it down and held it.

Legolas' color drained and he jerked his head so that he lay back against the big man restraining him. His chin pointed up towards the cave ceiling as the prince stared at it and then clenched his eyes shut, biting his lower lip, causing it to bleed fiercely. He refused to scream for them but a whimper of pain pushed past his lips before he could stop it and the men clapped and hooted in response. Squeezing his eyes shut, Legolas gasped loudly as the hot metal that had seemed to linger there for millennia was withdrawn. He choked on another pain filled whimper, determined that the men should not hear it.

Ceorl asked almost cheerfully. "Do you feel like talking yet?"

Keeping his eyes closed against the pain, Legolas gulped down his agony before hissing. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Feeling the brand as it was placed over another part of his defenceless abdomen, Legolas' eyes shot open and he stared in helpless horror as it came in contact with his skin. This man really didn't seem to understand that he couldn't tell what he didn't know and no amount of torture could change that fact.

Closing his eyes again, Legolas jerked back tighter into the arms of the man restraining him as the hot metal blistered his skin once more. His hands clenched behind his back until his fingernails bit into his palms.

"How are you feeling now?" Ceorl withdrew the brand and looked at Legolas expectantly, allowing Legolas a few seconds to think the circumstances over before replying.

Legolas' breathing was hitching from time to time now as he refused to cry out for them any more than he already had. His face was a pasty white except for the crimson trickles that ran down his chin from his lower lip where he had bitten it as an escape route from the agony. The secondary pain helped him bear the first a little better. "You cannot change facts with torture. I really don't know…"

Staring at the cave ceiling once more as though looking for solace from the mere rocks, the prince realized that he had completely forgotten that he was in a cave. His fear for Estel, which was far greater, had erased the notion from his mind.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn knew that he was getting close and had been for the past few hours but their lair appeared to be too well hidden because he couldn't find the entrance. He had followed the signs of their horses but those had gradually dissolved, it seemed, swamped by the spongy grass and so he was left to discern direction without them.

He could feel Legolas' distress pulsing through his mind like a numbing shock from a Nazgul's sword and he could hear the Elf's inward cries of pain in his thoughts. They kept on echoing through his awareness like ghosts that couldn't be dispelled and he didn't know who was hurting more, Legolas or himself. Listening and feeling his best friend's pain without being able to see the Elf or provide any comfort was almost unbearable. Silently, he tried to will soft thoughts of consolation to the prince that he knew was being tortured.

_/Hold on _mellon nîn_. I am coming, I promise./ _Aragorn reached out with his conscience, trying to relay a message of hope to his friend's subconscience.

He was surprised when a surge of absolute panic mingled with terror ripped through his mind, surging through his thoughts. _/No! Don't/ _He could hear his clearly alarmed friend plead earnestly, as though the very thought gave him a nervous break down.

_/I won't leave you alone, Legolas. You know that. So don't ask me to…/ _Aragorn trailed his thoughts off as Legolas' response came back before he could finish.

_/They'll kill you…/ _Legolas message was interrupted by a shudder of pain that seemed to ripple through Aragorn as well and caused the ranger to stop his light jog in anger and alarm.

_/You know that I would die for you…/ _Aragorn sent the calm memorandum to Legolas' failing consciousness. He could feel their connection pulling asunder and he was desperate to keep it. It was something that they had learned in Harad, communicating telepathically to encourage and uphold one another through interrogation.

_/I know… but please don't…/ _

_/Legolas I am coming for you right now! Don't you give up/ _Aragorn's tone changed to one of desperation and he tried urgently to keep their connection strong, but he couldn't uphold the Elf's end.

_/N-n-no… Estel…/ _Legolas' inner voice was becoming distant and Aragorn finally felt their connection completely sever.

Almost like a whiplash, as though a literal cord between them as a bond had been snapped, Aragorn felt a small pain and then he felt no more. He didn't know if Legolas was dead or alive, but he suspected that he was merely unconscious. "I'm coming," he whispered faintly as though Legolas was standing close enough to hear him with his Elven ears. "And neither of us will die."

:0Ї0:

Legolas went limp in the burly man's grip as his head fell forward onto his battered chest and his face became obscured by his shortened blonde hair. He had taken too much abuse on his newly healed body and his recent habits of barely eating had not helped either. His telepathic conversation with Aragorn had actually helped drain his energy about five times as fast, causing him to be unable to remain conscious.

Ceorl motioned numbly for the man holding the Elf to simply drop him and was instantly obeyed and the man relinquished his hold on Legolas' arms, watching in disdain as the prince slipped to the floor. Legolas splayed out on the floor and his muscles relaxed against the welcomingly cold surface. His breathing was shallow and his face white as his body attempted to recover from the interrogation and trauma.

Ceorl looked at him in contempt and then decided there was nothing he could do. Crumpling the piece of paper he held, the man wondered idly for a moment if the Elf had been telling the truth, after all he couldn't imagine anyone lying under the sorts of conditions the prince had just endured.

He had given up trying to find out information about the three Elves. He wasn't overly concerned about them anyway. He had about a hundred men here in this camp and its immediate area and three hostile Elves would present little threat. In the end, they just die like anyone else.

Besides, he had a new interest now, he reminded himself dryly and looked down at the crumpled piece of paper he held in his clenched fist. Opening his fingers, he carefully began to flatten the parchment again and angrily glanced over it, feeling his blood rushing to his face once more. A stab of hot frustration surged through him and he was halfway tempted to rip the blasted paper apart.

It was written in Elvish and had been discovered inside the leg of Legolas' suede boot when Legolas had kicked at him during a part of their conversation. The paper had peeked over the top of the boot and Ceorl had immediately snatched it, but when he had attempted to read it, he had found it incomprehensible.

When he asked Legolas about it, or more accurately, threatened him about it, Legolas had responded angrily that it was only a letter to his father and that it was nothing important and that even if it was important, it was none of his business. The man chuckled to himself, "right. You're a strong one, Legolas. But I know you are lying."

Just then a commotion at the mouth of their lair caught his attention and he set aside thoughts of the letter and Legolas to see what the disturbance was all about. Ah, the messenger had arrived early. Standing up and dusting his breeches off with his hands while he stuffed the letter into a convenient pocket, Ceorl walked over to greet their guest.

The man was attired almost entirely out of dark material and he was a lot taller than Ceorl had seen most men. After a few rough words with the sentinels at the cave's entrance, the mysterious messenger strode forward almost casually and yet completely businesslike, to converse with Ceorl.

Ceorl asked a bit hoarsely, "What is Sharky's response?"

A small laugh escaped the other man's mouth from the inside of his hood. "I must first see this Elf you have managed to capture." He had orders from his master and he meant to follow them, no matter of trivial they seemed.

Ceorl opened his mouth to protest but seemed to have second thoughts and shut it with a snap. Turning more hospitable if only for the sake of diplomacy, the man asked as he gestured the hooded man towards Legolas, "And how was your journey?"

The other man vaguely answered, "There was nothing worth speaking of."

Seeing Legolas' pale form outstretched on the ground, he crouched beside him and took his wrist in one hand, carefully checking for a pulse. It was weak and sporadic as was the Elf's breathing. Brushing hair away form Legolas' face, he noted the bruises and his face darkened into a scowl. "Was he so hard to capture?" The man asked emotionlessly, casting a questioning glower up at Ceorl.

Ceorl frowned. "No, actually the orcs handled that and he came right to them for the most part."

The hooded messenger shook his head indifferently and his fingers traced the receding welt on Legolas face that raced jaggedly across his right cheek bone. "Then what is this?"

"Ask the orcs," Ceorl spat impatiently, wishing that this man would just give him a response and have it over with.

"It appears that he was tortured," speculated the other man darkly, looking at the suggesting brand marks, bruises and lacerations that appeared to be quite fresh. There was dried blood that stood out darkly on Legolas' pasty face, running from his nose and mouth. The unnaturally shorter hair was also not lost on the human.

"It was his fault. He knows something and," Ceorl mentioned before he could think better of it, "he has this." Reluctantly the Rohirric man pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to the messenger, who eagerly accepted it. "He claims it was a letter to his father."

Unfolding the crinkled letter and smoothing out the creases, the other man stood up and glanced over it dispassionately. "It is a letter to his father," he confirmed quietly and nonchalantly.

Ceorl narrowed his eyes irritably and feeling humiliated, he growled demandingly, "How can you be so sure? Can _you_ read Elvish?"

"I can. Would you like me to translate the entire thing or just a passage?"

Ceorl would have liked nothing more than to choke this man but he felt that wouldn't prove to be very diplomatic, so he restrained himself. However much he didn't want to be proven wrong, he couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue and he knew that he was going to feel dissatisfied until he saw this for himself. "The entire thing," he answered almost coolly, crossing his arms and waiting patiently for the other man start.

The other human sighed heavily from inside his cloak and seemed to shrug even though Ceorl couldn't be too certain of that. It was no skin off his nose. He had been doing this since he could remember. Esgaroth had been his prior home before he felt that trading with the Wood Elves for what supplies they were willing to offer was less than a life and had departed to find something better. He still wasn't sure if he liked his job now but it definitely beat Lake Town.

_My beloved father and King,_

_You cannot know the nights I lay awake wrestling with myself. It was never my intention to hurt you but I fear I have done so. It is my greatest fear. I never meant to leave on those terms and I wish I could take them back. _

_But you have to understand me; I always meant to come back to you, father. I never meant to leave you alone. I know there is no way to make up what I have done, but I will be here and beg you to forgive me and take me back. _

_With Love, _

_Legolas Greenleaf _

Ceorl had grown a smile since the heading of the letter had been read and now it had broadened into a wicked grin of anticipation. "So he is a prince, eh?" He couldn't help but sound a bit incredulous, after all the chances of this were very slim.

"He is the prince of Mirkwood, it would seem," the hooded messenger responded coolly, handing the letter back to Ceorl with little more than a twist of his hand. Inclining his head, he looked down almost pityingly at Legolas. "He is just what Sharky has been looking for and if anything, the finding of his lineage makes things even better."

Ceorl looked a bit uneasy and reluctant. Frowning, he stepped unnoticeably between Legolas and the messenger from Sharky. "Are you taking him then?" He wasn't sure that now that he had possession of a Firstborn that he was willing to give him up right here and now. Admittedly, he was very possessive of what was his.

To his astonishment and near relief, Sharky's messenger replied, "No, you and a few men will bring him to Isengard yourselves. It had better be accomplished in a few weeks as well or we will both answer for it."

Ceorl snorted importantly, feeling compelled to ask about what exactly he was going to get out of this little venture. After all, he was running a fair amount of risk and naturally wanted to get something for his all his troubles. "And what exactly is in this for me?"

The messenger cocked his head to the side and silently observed Ceorl for a moment, and then he nodded grimly as though to himself. "You will get your pay in gold," he assured the other man. "But, he had better be in good condition. No more torture. He will receive payment for anything he does when he is brought to us."

Ceorl seemed to smile in grim approval but glanced down reproachfully at the Elf. He was a handful, even for many men, and without anything to hold over his head, like torment, they would have no chance of ever getting him anywhere. However, there was something in this messenger's eyes that made him uneasy and seemed forbidding, as though he could be turned into ashes on the spot and so Ceorl reluctantly yielded to the terms although it was obvious that they were to his disliking.

"Good." The other man read Ceorl's mind. "I will wait to escort you onto the premises partway there."

"But-"

"And you had better be on time. Don't make me wait. You won't like the consequences," the messenger called the warning over his shoulder as he started for the cave exit, leaving behind a frowning Ceorl. All of the men in the cave parted to make a clear path way for the distinctive stranger that had such control over their leader.

Ceorl was beginning to get the idea that this messenger was more than what he had appeared to be and that any objections he made to these arrangements would ultimately lead to his death. He had to be careful here, because somehow he had the impression that this mysterious stranger knew that he was playing both sides and he desperately hoped that Sauron had not come to the same conclusion.

Regaining control of things, he looked demandingly at a strawberry blonde fifteen-year old, still a boy. "Clean him up and when he wakes up, I want him fed the same as the rest of us."

The boy seemed puzzled but shuffled forward reluctantly and almost fearfully to do Ceorl's bidding. "With what shall I clean him?" he asked in a soft voice that was almost gentle –anything but argumentative. His soft grey eyes implored the older man. "Father?"

"There are some rags and a bucket for watering the horses in the corner," Ceorl barked almost irritably, gesturing towards them with a vague wave of his hand. The boy asked no more questions and started to shuffle towards where the bucket and rags were, used to help cooling off the horses and watering them. His right leg dragged slightly behind him, slightly askew to his left one, leaving him obviously crippled. He had been that way from birth.

Collecting the bucket of water and rags with some difficulty, he slowly made his way over to Legolas, hobbling to the Elf's side. Gently, he straightened Legolas out on the cold stone and smoothed his shortened hair away from his face with a tender caress, scared of and for the Elf.

Remembering the letter as he cleansed Legolas' numerous wounds and cared for him the best he could, he whispered to the unconscious Elf, "Who was it that you left behind? Your father? Your brother? What made you leave to come _here_?" He was old enough to know that things in his country were quickly declining and if this kept up there was going to be serious trouble. "What drove you away from that which you loved? Or did you follow what needed you more?"

Suddenly he jerked back in alarm as Legolas' bleary blue eyes slowly fluttered open and the Elf's long, pale hand grabbed his wrist that held the cloth to his forehead. "Estel?" he asked deliriously, and continued to mumble in broken Elvish of which the boy understood nothing.

"Of whom do you speak? I cannot be he, but I am here to help," assured the boy as consolingly as possible without his father hearing, seeing Legolas' fright and pain buried deep in his eyes as they swirled around, taking in everything there was to see in the place.

Legolas licked his dried and cracked lips as his senses crept back and then, tasting the dried and hardened blood, he winced noticeably. "Who are you?" he asked softly, realizing the boy was cleansing his wounds gently with a wet cloth that wasn't soaked, merely damp.

It felt refreshing against his bruised and hot skin and he couldn't help but relax under the kind touch even though the thought of another human who was not Aragorn seeing him this vulnerable did make him want to pull away. He saw no threat in the boy's eyes and so he simply concentrated on keeping his breathing level while his wounds smarted from the attention they were receiving.

"I am son to Ceorl," the boy answered calmly, looking at Legolas in reverence and pity. Looking into the water bucket before he dipped the cloth in it and seeing it stained red already with Legolas' blood, he sighed and stood upon his good leg to empty it and replenish the supply. There was a spring nearby that he could use and the distance wasn't too great.

Legolas noticed how his leg dragged and the boy's walk was no more than a hobble at best. The child certainly didn't resemble his strong, proud and cruel father. As a matter of fact, Legolas would make a bet that he was his mother's child and with a hidden strength. He didn't know much about humans, Legolas admitted to himself, but he knew that a limp like that was not the norm for any boy of around fifteen. It was obvious why his father treated the boy like a servant. He was not the child of the ambitious father's dreams. To Ceorl, this boy was a lost cause, nothing more.

Legolas had known many forms of hurt, but never one where he was despised by his own father and unwanted. Or at least, he didn't think so and memories of their last meeting broke the surface of his pool of thoughts, causing him to wince outwardly. He didn't know if his father still loved him but he suspected that he still did. He hoped that he still did. He couldn't go on if his father hated him. He would die.

The Elf narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy finally manage to shuffle through the cave entrance and over the uneven and dangerous ground. He turned right and from there was lost to Legolas' vision so the Elf relaxed and looked heavenwards only to realize that he was still trapped inside the same dark cave. Closing his eyes, he willed himself away from this horrible place for as long as possible.

He suddenly remembered his connection with Aragorn and jolted out of his consoling reverie. The human was going to die and there was precious little that Legolas could do about it except find a way to kill Ceorl first or escape. Neither of these left him with very encouraging odds to take consolation in. As a matter of fact, the odds alone made him feel sick.

His sharp hearing picked up the sound of the boy's shuffling limp as he returned, bearing the large and heavy bucket of water all by himself. It had to be quite a burden with his crippled leg useless the way it was but he said nothing and was holding his own with it quite well. What he lacked in physical strength he stalwartly made up for in determination. It was a hard life that he had learned to live and it made Legolas' heart burn for him. He knew from talking to Aragorn what it was like not to have a father and the ranger and he both knew what it was like to not have a mother. It had to be worse to have a father who hated who you were and what you were to become.

When the child knelt by him again, Legolas caught his hand as he dipped into the bucket with the washing cloth. The weakened Elf's grip was still strong and the boy could not free himself as Legolas adamantly held on. "Child, why do you receive no help?"

The boy looked away and a red flush of shame flushed into his cheeks, making them burn. He mumbled quietly, as though it was something Legolas should not have to ask, it should be written on his face; in his eyes as it was carved in his future. "This is my curse. Our family… our nation is one of warriors. I am not. Therefore it is my burden to bear alone and should not weigh others down."

For a moment Legolas could not speak. He was stunned at the answer even though he had halfway expected it. Scowling and shaking his head as he attempted to sit up, the Elf ignored the pain it caused and spat aggressively, "That's a lie." His anger could not be mistaken and the boy stepped back in fear, misunderstanding the Elf.

Realizing the boy's mistake and his own error at being so abrupt, Legolas softened his face as well as his approach at the same time that the boy reproached, "But it's the honest truth, Master Elf!"

Smiling gently, Legolas shook his head some more and responded evenly, "I am sorry. I meant, w-what he told you is a lie. You were meant for so much more than this." Legolas hissed as the boy timidly touched the cloth to his brand wounds to cleanse them. The cold water and soft cloth felt good and yet horrible and his abdominal muscles shuddered helplessly as it soothed his deep burns.

"Are you sure?" the boy asked sceptically, watching Legolas' face intently to see if it had been a cruel form of a joke or not. He was used to being taunted and he wouldn't be overly surprised if it was.

Legolas opened one eye cautiously and spoke around his pain, understanding that the boy was doing his best to relieve it and not wanting to make the human feel any more useless than he probably already did. "I promise."

There was a long silence during which both Elf and teenage boy appeared to be thinking things through and wondering if perhaps it was better to remain silent. They didn't have to get to know each other after all.

Legolas broke the silence in a quiet and reluctant whisper, "What is your name?"

At this the human boy seemed to flinch again and Legolas sensed him drawing back into himself, locking the Elf out. It was obvious that whoever the human was, he was afraid. He had been on his own too long. Trust must be something he had only heard stories about and to him they must seem like distant fairytales.

Patiently and in as kindly a voice as possible, Legolas repeated, "What is your name?"

The boy hesitated, obviously wrestling with himself and trying to shove down his growing trust of the Elf that he had never met before in his life. He sensed Legolas' kindness and love and he wanted to be on the receiving end of it. He wanted a friend so badly he could taste it but every time before when he had tried to bond with anyone the relationship had slipped through his fingers like smoke. "I have no name…my father never named me. He said I wasn't worthy of bearing a name of Rohan."

Legolas blinked in astonishment and winced as the cloth was dipped in water again and it started the process of cleansing his burns and lacerations once more. It was odd; he would have never allowed Aragorn to do this so easily even though he trusted the ranger better than he did his own father at times. "How can it be that you have had no name? What then does he call you by?" Legolas' voice sounded unnaturally stressed as he worked to keep his breathing in check and not create a scene in front of these men.

"He doesn't call for me," the boy answered somewhat tartly, obviously angry. "He commands me. He just looks at me and I know…" His voice trailed off, wondering why he was telling this to a complete stranger. It was strange feeling to be able to confide in anyone…especially an Elf.

Legolas was silent for a minute and then he asked encouragingly, "Would you like a name?"

The boy paused his work and looked about nervously and fear was evident in his eyes –fear of his father's reaction if ever he found out. Besides, he had been nameless long enough that he had grown accustomed to it. "No, thank you. I am used to this."

Having successfully washed the wounds on Legolas' abdomen, he moved to tend to the prince's face, which had its fair share of bruises. Blood ran from his nose and a split lip.

Legolas pulled away slightly, reluctant to allow his face to be touched but seeing the pleading look on the human's face, allowed it after a minute or two. The way the boy was so sympathetic and cleansed his wounds so tenderly and with such attention to detail made the prince wonder if he had gotten on his father's bad side one too many times as well. Hot anger flared through the Elf for a moment but he managed to keep it in check and let it flow through him.

His face took less time than his abdomen had and soon it was finished. Legolas sat up gingerly, almost inch by inch to try spare himself any pain that he could. However, he refused to lean back against the wall where those dreaded shackles were and instead drew his knees up to his chin and rested his head on them. His eyes followed the boy's every move with curiosity and sympathy as he shuffled off and emptied the bucket just outside of the cavern before going to see what there was for Legolas to eat.

Sighing, Legolas wanted to sleep but he was afraid to shut his eyes. The distractions were ebbing away and now the fact that he was in a cave and surrounded by men who were blood-thirsty, faithless traitors was becoming more frightening than it had seemed at first. He would find no rest here, ever.

Suddenly, Legolas realized his hands weren't bound and the cords on his feet were severed and gone. He could escape. But what effect would that have on those whose charge he was placed in? The boy would pay the price and Legolas knew it. He could not let that happen, not if it was preventable. Aragorn would not and neither would he. Although, he desperately wanted to return home and sleep in his own bed and eat dinner with his father…it had been so long…

The boy returned shortly, a small, encouraging smile pulling at his face ever so slightly. Funny, Legolas thought to himself as the human child approached, I don't think he knows quite how to smile…or at least he doesn't remember. Whenever the boy tried to smile his face took on a stiff expression.

"I have some broth and a bit of bread," he offered the bowl the Elf who didn't move to accept. The meagre excuse for a smile automatically dropped from the boy's face and he lowered the proffered bowl in obvious disappointment. Shaking his head, he persisted, "Are you not hungry?"

After the ordeal Legolas had been through with the boy' father it was understandable that he may not be in the mood to eat but the fifteen year-old was still astonished that he didn't want to even attempt it. He had to get his strength back somehow and starving himself wasn't going to be the answer.

Legolas just shook his head lightly. Forcing a smile at the boy, who was only trying to be helpful, the Elf answered kindly, "I don't think I want any thing in me right now." Then he added as a token of goodwill, "If you want it, you can have it. I really want nothing to do with it."

The boy said nothing for a moment, stared blankly and then set the bowl down at the Elf's feet in a way that suggested a secret reverence towards the prisoner. Taking the bread, he dropped it lightly down beside the filled wooden dish. Backing away, he said in explanation, "In case you change your mind."

Legolas didn't answer verbally but nodded slightly and then resumed to resting his chin wearily on his knees. He noticed with a twinge of suspicion that the boy wasn't leaving and he looked up at him expectantly, but his expression softened the he saw the human's uneasiness.

Standing anxiously on his good leg alone, the strawberry blonde child clumsily ventured to explain, "I –er I am sorry. But I –you have to be bound again." His eyes fell apologetically on the prince's bloodied and aching wrists, where the manacles had bitten into his soft flesh and left bruises and scrapes in their wake. He saw the naked alarm flood into Legolas' eyes and the more disguised feeling of helplessness but there was nothing he could do about it and so he merely looked at the floor in frustration. "I am sorry," he repeated gently.

Legolas sighed, knowing that if he challenged this he would be putting the child in a worse position than he was already in and in addition to that he would be punished for resisting. It simply was not worth it but he dreaded the feeling of the icy metal wrapping around his wrists once more. They already ached so much.

The only thing that he did find interesting was that they seemed to trust this crippled boy to be able to control him if he tried to escape. Either that or they knew that for the boy's sake he would not. Resenting having to do this, Legolas stiffly sidled his back up with the wall and placed his hands above his head. "If you have to," he whispered tiredly.

The boy reluctantly hobbled over and gingerly took one of Legolas' hands, hissing in empathy as he sensed the pain it caused the prince. "Would that I had some ointment, I would help you here." Pressing the back of Legolas' hand against the cold stone, he set the wrist gently into the manacle and winced with the Elf as it set with a cold _snap_, locking tightly about Legolas' wrist. Going through the same process with Legolas' other hand, he seemed relieved when the business was over.

Looking about and not seeing his father anywhere, the boy sat at Legolas' feet in a silent gesture that stated that he meant to keep the Elf company. Legolas smiled around his pain and aggravation. It was sweet that the boy wanted to sit with him and he welcomed the companionship. It would help to make the cave more bearable.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn had a feeling that he would have never liked the mysterious hooded messenger had he actually met him but right now he could kiss the man's hand or maybe even his feet. He hadn't been looking for him, but the man had passed through to deliver his message at just the right time.

It hadn't taken Aragorn overly much skill to follow him unnoticed. The ranger had been granted enough practice playing around with Legolas, and no matter what the Elf swore he knew that at least twice he had caught his friend unawares in the past. This messenger was either deaf or completely absorbed in his errand so that he had shut out the rest of the world and had taken no notice of an anxious ranger trailing his every step. Aragorn knew he had been breathing so loud an Elf could have shot him the dark.

The man had left the cave about an hour or so ago and Aragorn had been hiding for about that long on the confines of their camp, scrutinizing the situation with trained eyes. He had spent most of his time staring at the accursed cave as though he could melt it with his gaze alone. Legolas despised caves and under these conditions it was most likely unbearable.

What he saw was mostly the routine of a typical army camp, with men coming and going to relieve themselves and men whittling knives out of boredom. Aragorn didn't know whether he should be even more afraid for Legolas or not. After all there was only one reason the men were bored and that was because Legolas was not providing the entertainment this night. The ranger didn't know if it was because the Elf was dead or because they were merely giving him a reprieve because they had gone too far in their fun and games.

There was only one thing that Aragorn had noticed that was not normal and he had immediately taken interest. A boy had come out, shuffling with a crippled leg and he was different than the others. His face was kind.

However, Aragorn had noticed that he was being forced to carry a large bucket and that if he wasn't mistaken the bucket was filled with a crimson liquid. Whenever the boy's feet faltered and he stumbled, some of the reddish stuff would spill out over the top and splash to the ground. The real truth of the matter had been revealed when the child had dumped the bucket, allowing the crimson liquid to rush across the trampled ground in many different rivers branching across the soil and trodden grass.

His heart had ceased in his chest when he had seen the liquid as it rolled out around the boy's feet. It resembled blood but he doubted anyone had that much blood in their entire body. Shuddering, he was suddenly sure why the Elf had broken their connection and slipped into unconsciousness earlier.

He had watched as the boy replenished the bucket at a spring and hobbled back into the cave. Were they mopping up what was left of his friend? Eru, whatever had they done to Legolas? Breathing through his nose, he remembered having smelled something strong that had made his stomach lurch violently. Burned flesh. There was no doubt in his mind as to what kind of torture Legolas had been forced to endure and it made his skin crawl.

Looking back on all of this, Aragorn finally gathered enough courage to try and reach out to his friend's consciousness, praying for an answer. He couldn't sit here, waiting for complete darkness, never knowing whether he waited to steal Legolas' cold body or free the Elf. Somehow he knew in his heart Legolas wasn't dead, but the communication between them would be good for them both at the present since there was nothing else they could do. He knew that Legolas needed him.

_/Leoglas, mellon nin? What has happened to you? What is going on/ _Aragorn willed his silent pleas to the prince, waiting impatiently for any sign that they had reached his friend and were being understood. Looking at the heavens as though he expected the answer to be written in the sky, Aragorn saw that it was turning dark with the night, but a large storm out of Mordor rode on the dusk.

Suddenly a response came back, soft and barely there, as though Legolas was struggling with retaining consciousness. _/You took long enough, Estel. I was beginning to grow bored…/ _

_/Legolas! How are you? Why was there so much blood/ _Aragorn demanded, relieved at hearing his friend's voice in his head but disturbed by the way Legolas was brushing this off. Something was seriously wrong. He knew his friend could not possibly have been bored.

There was no answer from the Elf for what seemed millennia and then there came a soft, serious, aching response that seemed to shred Aragorn's heart. _/Estel…I am afraid./ _

Swallowing hard, Aragorn tried to hold himself together and fought down the helplessness that tried to consume him alive. Legolas had gone through too much in Harad. It simply wasn't fair that he should have to face this when he had gone so far on the road to recovery. _/I know. But I am right outside the camp. I will come for you tonight./_

Legolas did not answer even though the ranger could tell that the connection was not severed but merely out of service. Everything suddenly seemed so silent that it was painfully loud. Aragorn looked up at the dark storm clouds advancing towards them with lightning flickering on their crests, striking the earth. Thunder rumbled low and ominous. The sky flashed a cloudy ruddiness under the influence of a large bolt of lightning, reminding Aragorn of the bucket of crimson liquid that he had watched spread across the ground.

Why had there been so much blood? Or was it all even blood?

His thoughts were changed as he suddenly realized that his brothers were out exposed in this storm. From the way the clouds were swirling, massing and lighting up, it was going to be a tempest to remember. A wounded Elf didn't stand a chance if he were exposed to elements of this strength and capability for a long period of time. His brothers and Rothinzil had no choice but to try and weather it.

He would give a hand to have them by his side right now, lending him their experience and consolations…their support. The thunder rumbled again and Aragorn remembered when they used to coddle him during storms as a small child, whispering that they wouldn't let it hurt him and that everything would be alright. He remembered being held tightly between them and their arms around him, keeping him close and shielding him from the flashes of lightning. He remembered the smells of their nightshirts and their long hair tickling his little pudgy face.

His shoulders shook in a suppressed sob as he realized he was completely on his own this time. Legolas lived or died depending on how he carried out this rescue. It wasn't the first time, of course, but after seeing his brothers again he had banked on having them with him for the remainder of this calamity. He wondered what they were doing right at this very moment…if they were even alive.

A few raindrops, only a small precursor to what was to break in a few more minutes, splattered against Aragorn's face, mingling with a few silent tears that were already trailing his face. Taking the sleeve of his weather-stained overcoat, the man drew it across his face and wiped away both water and tears at once. Pulling the hood of his worn cloak, he accepted what meagre protection it could offer him against the coming onslaught of rain.

:0Ї0:

Elrohir sat cross-legged on the spongy grass, watching Elladan and chewing his already bleeding lip. Rothinzil sat across from him, flanking the other side of the prone older twin and nursing his stiff and sore shoulder with circular motions of his fingers massaging the aching flesh surrounding the joint.

Elladan opened his eyes cautiously as consciousness slowly came back. He didn't know how long he had been out and he decided that he really didn't want to anyway. Everything, and he meant quite literally everything, was burning with a pulsing ache. Licking his dry and pale lips, he looked over Elrohir, who was smiling a silly smile of surprise and joy.

"Welcome back!" he announced a little too loudly as Rothinzil retaliated in aggravation;

"Keep it a little quieter please. My head hurts." The dark-haired warrior's face was screwed up in a tight grimace. His wound was causing him more pain than he was willing to admit. However, this didn't matter because it was obvious in the creases of his face and the lack of colour his skin had taken.

"Where is Estel?" murmured Elladan in a broken voice, looking around rapidly as he felt inexplicably tired. He wanted to see to his younger brother…

"He went for Legolas-"

"Alone?" Elladan barked, his voice finally rising and his face turning cloudy in anger, spurred by an acute sense of anxiety.

"Um… yes," Elrohir admitted reluctantly, afraid of the effect it would have on his barely alive brother. His hands gently applied pressure to Elladan's shoulders, pressing him carefully but firmly back against the soft and natural grass bed. Elladan was wise enough not to resist, and even if he had wanted to, his still potentially fatal wound prevented any such activity.

"Why is he alone?" Elladan persisted, not put off by Elrohir's relentless mothering. He split his glare almost evenly between Rothinzil and his younger twin, staring them down.

Both of the two couldn't have looked guiltier or more uncomfortable. Elrohir sighed and glanced at Roth as though for help but the other Elf merely turned his face away and left Elrohir to field the question alone. Elrohir swallowed as he mulled things over in his mind. "Do you not remember being shot?" he finally questioned, watching Elladan carefully to determine his reaction and see if it was going to be necessary to restrain his older brother.

Elladan merely blinked. "Well that explains a lot anyway," he mumbled darkly under his breath before he shook his head minutely, immediately regretting the small gesture. "No, I don't."

"I was shot in the-"

Elladan raised his eyebrows questioning and in surprise, making enough of a gesture to commit his brother to a temporary silence, "_You_ were shot? Where?" He tried to sit up again but his own pain was restraint enough. He knew his limits and didn't try to exceed them for the time being.

"Yes. Now, I was shot in the shoulder blade," Elrohir continued almost as though Elladan had never interrupted. Elladan submitted himself to listening to Elrohir's explanations but the cross and impatient expression never left his face –a perfect reflection of the brotherly anxiousness he was suffering. "Roth was shot in the shoulder."

Elladan parted his lips to speak but thought better of it. The sad thing was that he believed all of this without any trouble.

Elrohir sighed tiredly and gave Elladan a forced sympathetic half-smile. "And you were shot in the back."

Elladan didn't seem impressed even if he was a bit confused. By all rights he should be dead right now and even though he was grateful that he was alive, he was alarmed that the arrow had not killed him. Maybe the Valar had something worse in mind…like boiling oil…

"What of Estel? Was he harmed?" Elladan asked tensely, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes as he thought of anyone harming the human he still considered his little brother, despite Aragorn's age.

"Not when I last saw him," Elrohir answered solemnly, the half smile he had held earlier melted from his face as he was forced to face the uncertainty. "We have to have faith. He has survived these past four years without our help –and Legolas as well." Saying this was not only comforting to Elladan, it helped to sooth Elrohir's worries too.

But it also caused great hurt.

Elladan hated to admit it and Elrohir's words cut deeply into his thoughts and heart. Aragorn was growing up. They couldn't protect him from everything anymore. "It's unfair that their lives should be stolen just before they arrive home. _Ada_ will never be able to bear this news and Thranduil…" He didn't have to finish his sentence and a heavy, ominous silence hung in the air, weighing them down.

"Well we can't just sit around here and hope they make it through," Rothinzil spoke for everyone but received glares just the same because they were almost incapable of anything else.

"We know," Elrohir snapped, frustrated. Elladan was in no position to travel and without more proper supplies all their wounds were going to become infected. Elladan was too weak and vulnerable to undergo an infection of any sort and live. Blood loss and injury had left him exposed and Elrohir felt scared. He couldn't lose two brothers…even one was entirely too much and the loss of a friend on top of that…

Looking at Elladan's _closed_ eyes; Elrohir muttered worriedly, "we need to get you to _Ada_, or at least to Mirkwood's healers." He knew it was no use fighting it. They had no choice and precious little time. Elladan had to be seen to fast. This wasn't beyond Elrohir's store of expertise but unfortunately, the younger twin lacked the supplies to treat his older brother properly.

Elladan argued angrily, "No! We need to find Estel…" his speech was beginning to slur as merely thinking of Aragorn in danger drained him of energy. But Elrohir recognized that there was something else sapping his brother of his strength. A cold sweat started on Elrohir's face as he feared the worst.

Elrohir smoothed Elladan's hair back from his pale and wet forehead where it had been stuck. Grimacing, he could swear he felt a fever infiltrating beneath his brother's white and clammy skin. "No. I am taking you home."

Elladan merely groaned, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe properly. He couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to and he blinked rapidly, searching Elrohir's face pleadingly.

This was the hardest decision Elrohir had ever made in his life. Torn between two brothers… Aragorn was well when he left and he was becoming an adult in human years but all the same… he couldn't let him go like that, all alone. This was the first time he had seen Estel in three to four years and to lose him when they were this close was indescribably disappointing. He knew Roth must be pining to go and rescue Legolas and reap vengeance on those who were hurting him.

"Help me Roth," plead Elrohir earnestly, his vision becoming blurred by a onslaught of tears that soon burst free and ran freely down his whitened face. "He needs to get home to Lord Elrond."

Roth looked at Elrohir and saw the naked fear darkening his friend's face. Clenching his jaw, he knew that Legolas was beyond his reach and that if Aragorn couldn't save him then no one could. It cut him deeply like a knife through his heart to admit it, but it was so obvious that not admitting it would only hurt worse. "I understand. We'll get him there," he assured the younger twin, placing his hand over Elrohir's.

Suddenly he looked at his hand curiously as a droplet fell on it. It wasn't a tear, for he was not crying and no more had fallen from Elrohir's eyes. Something struck him on the nose and he flinched at the sudden touch. Looking up darkly, he gazed at the blackening sky and for the first time became aware of the thunder, lightning and overwhelming probability of a serious storm.

Elrohir looked up and his face seemed to go whiter, understanding without any doubt the dangers this was pitting them against. There was no shelter for them to run to and even if there was, their travel would be too slow to reach it in time and the rain would beat them down. They would have to work with what they had and hope for the best.

Looking at Elladan, he tried to think of the best possible way to protect his brother form the pounding rain that was due any minute. Determination darkened his face as he observed their situation through squinted eyes.

Taking his trembling hands, he reminded himself that he needed to be strong for Elladan, while he gripped the sides of his brother's cloak and folded them tightly about the older twin. Elladan's eyes drifted open. "There is a storm...coming." He paused. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing," answered Elrohir, almost under his breath. Taking his own cloak, he pulled the large grey hood tight about his face and then placed himself over his prone and almost unaware brother. Spreading his large cloak, he allowed it to cover and shield both of them. Rothinzil sidled up along side Elrohir, clearly offering his help and he spread his cloak over the younger twin, Elladan and himself after pulling his hood up and bowing his head.

The wind swirled around them and the thunder became louder and harsher. The rain picked up in moments just as Elrohir had known all along it would. It was as though the Valar had all collected buckets and buckets of water and had decided to dump them at the same time. It felt as though he was drowning even though he could still breathe. The water pounded relentlessly on his back and poured from him in broad rivulets. Gasping at the icy touch and harsh spray, he looked and saw Elladan staring up into his eyes, asking what was going on, helpless to do anything.

Roth wriggled closer to Elladan, doing his best to shield his friend with his body. Gritting his teeth as the rain came down so hard it stung; Roth knew they were going to be extremely lucky if this didn't turn into a hailstorm.

Wincing, he felt the thunderpealing painfully in his ears and the lightning blinded his eyes, at the same time laying the land bare in a flash of white, exposing everything. During a slight lull in the thunder, Roth's ears barely heard the muffled cries of Elrohir as the rain beat into his tender wound and the warrior saw red run from his friend's shoulders as the rain aggravated his fresh wound.

Wanting to relieve Elrohir's pain, Roth pulled himself up and placed himself forcefully above the younger twin. The rain slammed into Roth but Elrohir was shielded and he chanced glancing over his shoulder at the dark-haired warrior. "_Hannon le_," he whispered before turning his attention back to Elladan and keeping the rain off his older brother.

Roth's own shoulder wound was not as vulnerable as Elrohir's and therefore caused him considerably less pain when the rain hit him, even though it still hurt. His long hair had slid free of his hood and lay plastered against his face. Beneath him he could see the fresh blood seeping through the torn cloak of Elrohir; a nasty red stain spreading quickly in its wake.

**TBC...**

**Well...that was a bit of a nasty chapter...those poor things, all of them! Well, all them except for Ceorl and his little sad crew. :) LOL We would like to thank you for all of your wonderful reviews for chapter three! They were precious (seriously). However, due to a small delay you should be recieving the responsesshortly sometime this evening. Sorry. We just had a bunch of exams and things of that nature! ;) We would love to hear from you all again and know what you think, so please, if time permits, drop us a review. :) **

**Thanks and see you next Friday! -Celeb and Tin**


	5. What if Our Places Were Reversed?

**Well, here is chapter five! And all you Aragorn angst fans…he finally gets into MAJOR trouble (and things will only escalate from there)! LOL There are two people we would like to thanks: Our beta, Nyctea Scandiaca! She is wonderful! And Marie Delcore, a dear friend who wrote the little lyrics we inserted. She didn't want us to give her credit but…LOL **

_I Will Always Return_

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER FIVE**

What if Our Places Were Reversed?

_The stars_

_Are dying as I sing_

_Obscured by Darkness_

_Behind Death's Raven wings_

_**-By Marie Delcore**_

:0Ї0:

The Elf was singing softly under his breath in low melodic tones, trying to provide some comfort in the darkness that was only broken by the sudden flashes of lightning, which died too quickly. The boy sitting next to him leaned back against the wall a few feet away from Legolas, appreciative of the singing and allowed it to start lulling him to sleep. His eyelids were heavy and he knew that Legolas wasn't going to try to escape; his wrists would be shredded if he thrashed around too much in those rough manacles.

Sighing, Legolas stared out with large eyes into the darkness of the cave. There were no campfires burning anymore and the air had turned cold from the ravaging storm that was still raging outside. The thunder often droned out Legolas gentle song but the Elf was beyond really caring and continued singing anyway. He shivered every now and then when the wind whipped into the cave and the cold air of it smashed against his exposed torso. Being an Elf he normally didn't get cold this easily, but his immune system along with the many other problems with his health were leaving him almost drained of resistance.

He still had a soft glow emitting from his skin, his inner light expanding outward, but it was less than it had once been and still had not fully recovered from Harad. Held in the darkness of this cave with these cruel men, it was dying again. He could feel it fading. Legolas stopped his singing for a moment, smiling slowly and splitting his broken lip accidentally in the process. Idly licking the blood, he remembered when the sun had set and the men had been fascinated by the light that had radiated in small doses from his figure. However, it had been the boy sitting next to him who had asked about it, undaunted by the difference in their race even if he was a bit wary.

Everything was quiet for a moment and even the thunder seemed to have reached an uncharacteristic lull. Legolas looked at the cave mouth where he could hear water tumbling from the lip of it, creating a small waterfall, but he could not see it. Picking up his soft song again, Legolas began to hum it, tired of articulating the words.

Apparently, even if the boy was appreciative, the men were not and there was a low, severe growl, "Shut your racket, Elf! If I have to come over there…" his voice slurred in sleep and he fell back into his dreams.

Not caring to stir up anymore trouble this night, Legolas sighed tiredly once moreand contented himself to being silent. Shifting in his manacles to try and relieve the throbbing pain in his wrists and back and causing the chain to clink rather loudly, he heard the light sleeping human snarl, "I told you to shut up, Elf!" His voice sounded more malicious this time and Legolas held still, laying his head against the wall between his bound arms. He wasn't going to look for trouble, especially with a grumpy human that hated him when he was in a good mood.

He was fast becoming frustrated enough to bash his head back against the stone that chilled his back. His hands should be freezing as well, except he had long ago lost feeling in them again. The cuffs enclosing his wrists were just too tight.

Closing his eyes, he knew he would get no sleep, but that wasn't why he was closing them. He wanted to shut out the storm, the dark, the cold, the metal, the men… everything. He wanted to return home, to old memories that he could never forget. Memories of what his life had been less than five years ago.

Thinking of his father and remembering suddenly when he was little and first taught to shoot an arrow and his father had been bursting with pride. With a shameful half-smile, Legolas recalled the time that his mother had tried not to grin at him as she chided him for eating honey cakes right before dinner. Legolas remembered that she had cuffed him gently on the back of the head and threatened to send him to bed without his supper because he had known better and was probably full of honey cakes anyway.

He suddenly found himself feeling so homesick that he was becoming physically ill. He missed his soft bed and cosy, but spacious bedroom and the warm blankets that he pulled over his head when he was too lazy to get up and close the window in the cold of night. He missed having his father coming in, stripping the blankets from the bed and reminding him of the late hour he had managed to get away with sleeping into.

He supposed he wouldn't ever have any of those experiences again and that now they were little more than memories. He had finally discovered a road that led to nowhere.

The boy opened his eyes next to the Elf and chanced a glance at him as the lightning lit up the close quarters of the cave. Legolas was shivering slightly and the boy frowned thoughtfully, watching as the white flash ended and the darkness flooded between them once more, obscuring his sight. He suddenly became guiltily aware of his much too large overcoat and the layers of tunic beneath. Legolas had less than this.

Quietly, the child slipped off the overcoat and scooting closer to Legolas, he waited for the next flash of lightning to reveal the Elf's form before he hesitantly laid the coat across Legolas' exposed torso. He wasn't sure what the Elf's reaction would be, but he didn't much care. He wanted to help and he knew the captive needed it.

Legolas jumped in surprise, having been lost in memories and when he realized it was only a coat, he cast a surprised and mildly annoyed look in the boy's direction. This was just like something Estel would have done when he was younger. He still did actually. The boy looked a little fearfully at the Elf, even though he knew that Legolas was effectively chained to the rock face. "You were shivering. I have to keep you alive," he answered truthfully, struggling with the feelings of kindness that opposed the bitterness he had felt for a long time.

Legolas couldn't see the boy in the dark but he knew that it was done for more than merely keeping him alive. Sighing, he whispered gently, "Et is a cold night. You need it." If this boy was half as stubborn as Aragorn then arguing with him would be completely futile and Legolas had to admit he was grateful for the warmth it provided. However, he still felt that the child needed it more. "What would your father say?" he asked in a low whisper.

He heard the boy hold his breath in frightened thought. He wouldn't infuriate his father, not over this. True, he cared about the Elf, but his father was not a person he wanted to face when angry… again. He had learned very early that Ceorl was not the sort of person that you tried to manipulate or undermine in any form. And he had been painfully aware of what his father had thought of him since his birth.

"Take it back," Legolas commanded softly. He didn't want an innocent to suffer for him… it was bad enough that Aragorn was coming and was out there somewhere waiting for a chance to throw caution to the wind and attempt to sneak in and get them both back out. He would never be able to get these manacles open, good lock-picking skills or not.

He could feel the child's hesitation; even though the boy had already been assured that it was alright. Slowly, the boy reached out a shaking hand and pulled the cloak from the Elf, leaving Legolas exposed to the cold once more.

He took in a quick, deep breath, almost moaning when his ribs protested earnestly.

A growl from the same grumpy man that had threatened Legolas earlier, warning the two in a few barely lucid words that they had better stop gabbing. Legolas felt indignant. The snoring and thunder were altogether much louder than Legolas and the child could ever be at a whisper.

A particularly loud clap ricocheted off the walls and caused Legolas to wince as he shook his sensitive ears. Several more like it followed and he flinched each time, wishing his hands were free to cover up his ears.

As the thunder rang inside his head, other memories he had forgotten years ago surfaced and he wanted to cry. His father used to hold him close and rock him during storms like this when he was a small Elfling. He wished the older Elf was here now, protecting him, letting him bury his face in his robes and hiding from everything for just a short time… just one minute.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn crouched just outside the cave entrance, concealed easily by the dark and tall grass. Rain poured off his hood in cascading waterfalls, distorting his vision. He stared at the ground for a minute, relieving his cloak of the water building inside its creases. Lifting his head, he glanced at the cave opening through narrowed eyes. He knew that Legolas was in there, but unfortunately the lightning didn't provide the light needed to discover the Elf and if he was going to attempt a rescue it was going to have to be in the blackness of the storm.

Sighing, he pulled his cloak tighter about himself as the rain was driven mercilessly around and against him. It found its way in the cloak, soaking his clothes, but Aragorn didn't care. He was too intent on his errand and ignored everything else.

Biting his lower lip, he decided that Legolas had been alone long enough already and that despite the risk of the storm and of getting caught, he was going to get that Elf out of there or die trying. He couldn't stand waiting here, shivering, and thinking of Legolas being cold, miserable, in pain and bound somewhere in there. He had not forgotten the crimson he had seen in the bucket and he was sure that it was not from one of the Rohirrim.

If Legolas had bled enough to completely stain a bucket full of water to a dark red then he was inevitably weak. What ever these men had done to his friend, Aragorn knew that they had been brutal and merciless about carrying it out, something that made his blood boil to merely think about it.

His resolve hardened and he knew that he could not wait any longer. Legolas needed him right now and he wasn't going to leave the Elf alone another minute nor let him be harmed any more than he already was. He felt bile rising in his throat as he guessed randomly at the many ways that they could have spilled that much of Legolas' blood.

Standing up, Aragorn knew that getting past the cave entrance would be simple enough. These men had not thought to post sentries on a night like this, most likely supposing that no soul was stupid enough to be out wandering in this weather. Or maybe, thinking that no one posed a threat who might be trailing them, which made Aragorn wonder if they knew he was around and were prepared.

It didn't matter. Sooner or later he was going to have to clash with them if he sincerely wished to get Legolas back and the sooner the better, at least for Legolas' sake.

Drawing a deep breath, Aragorn placed one foot in front of the other, stepping into the shadow of the cavern and continued silently a few more feet. By setting his foot on the ground heel first and slowly rolling it down along the side of his foot until his entire foot connected with the ground, he made very little noise if any. Aragorn had learned long ago how to become avoid discovery when he needed to and he was using that knowledge to aid him now.

He suddenly felt a thrill of fear stab through him. He had seen Legolas covered in blood and tortured before but then he had watched it happen and had known for the most part what he would see. This time everything was a nasty surprise. He didn't want to see Legolas writhing in pain somewhere or see his face hollow and his eyes wide in fear. Aragorn didn't want to feel his heart break at the sight.

Aragorn had gained a few yards now, but he knew he was heading into the clusters of sleeping men and if he brushed against or stepped on one then it would be finished. He would die or be kept with Legolas and escape would be much harder or even impossible. Shivering against the cold, he knew that these sleeping men had created a formidable problem.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the inner portion of the cave. Aragorn had been staring straight ahead into the darkness, wondering how far the cave went back. However, as the lightning had flickered in and filled the room with a mild white–blue light, he had seen Legolas' lithe form.

The ranger's breath was momentarily lost and he almost stumbled forward a few steps onto the sleeping man in front of him, ready to run to his friend's side. Gaping, he suddenly snapped his jaw shut angrily and seeing a strange sort of path in the light of another flash of lightning, he stepped over the sleeping human in front of him. The men slept in almost a complete cluster but by fate or design, they had left a small, narrow path of sorts that would be easy for the ranger to traverse without waking someone, providing that he didn't make a sound.

:0Ї0:

Legolas had finally begun to doze off, his eyes shut and his head lay back between his chained arms, leaning against one of them. His breathing still hitched every now and then but for the most part was one of an uneasy sleeper. The boy was awake beside him, watching the mouth of the cave idly. He couldn't rest and his heart had been moved.

He had never before considered contradicting his father openly or rebelling against his evil actions and the inflictions made upon others. However, this time he didn't think he could remain silent and live with himself later. Legolas was so kind to him when he need not be and he could tell the Elf was suffering greatly but refusing to show it. That was to be commended and the boy knew it. Legolas had offered a name, an identity and selflessly turned down the overcoat thinking of the boy's benefit over his own without any hesitation. The fifteen-year-old had never met such a selfless person and was beginning to think he had missed out on a lot of the goodness of life.

Looking cautiously over at Legolas, the Elf was revealed during a flash of lightning and he saw the prince was still shivering and that his face was white with blood loss. Legolas' hands were shaking above his head with stress, pain and weakness.

Suddenly, glancing back at the cave mouth, he saw the figure of an intruder advancing towards them cautiously, avoiding the sleeping men. He stepped carefully around Ceorl's outstretched hand as the man slept. Having felt contented and secure with his plans beforehand, Ceorl had fallen into a deep and restful sleep.

The boy's heart caught in his throat and he subconsciously held his breath. It was true that this man had probably come for Legolas but he doubted that the man would differentiate him from a foe. Thorongil. That was who this was. Well, the fifteen-year old thought absentmindedly, his father had been right when he had said the captain wouldn't leave the Elf alone for long.

Aragorn was standing before them both in mere seconds, his eyes dark with anger at the sight of his maliciously abused friend. Staring at the boy and realizing that he wasn't going to sound any sort of alarm, Aragorn ignored him and crouched by Legolas' side.

Gently his hands traced the edges of Legolas' bruised face and he whispered encouragingly, "Legolas. Wake, _mellon nîn_." The prince's blue eyes fluttered open and his hands jerked impulsively in his chains as he woke up with a jolt, probably from a bad dream. Aragorn quickly reached up and grabbed them, holding them still to keep them from clinking. They couldn't afford to be discovered now.

His stomach felt sick as he felt how cold Legolas' hands were and the way they were shaking. He couldn't see the extent of Legolas' torment and injury in the darkness only broken by random flashes of light, but he didn't need to. He could read it in his friend's shivers and his shallow breathing. "Estel?" a tired voice whispered guardedly in a way that seemed entirely too loud in Aragorn's ears.

"Yes. It is I, Thorongil. I have come," Aragorn answered, trying to get the Elf to remember his alias. It worked.

The prince almost jolted. His voice was raspy and thin when he spoke next. "Did they get you too?" Aragorn couldn't miss the frightened tone and his hands bracketed the Elf's face gently so that the bruised cheeks were not offended.

"No. Not yet. I have come to free you," he murmured back. He felt moisture around the Elf's eyes and wiped it tenderly away with his thumbs. His friend was or had been crying.

There was an ominous silence between them. He felt Legolas swallow hard and removed his hands slowly from the prince's face, placing them on his knees. "Thorongil, you must leave. I will only slow you down and they want you dead." However, Legolas' suggestion was belied by the naked fear in his voice. He didn't want to die and he didn't want to be… be tortured and mutilated for the rest of his life.

The fifteen-year old listened in complete silence, observing the close friendship that was of a kind he had never seen before. It was intriguing and he wanted to learn more.

Aragorn shook his head so water spilled off his sopping hood. Ignoring that, he protested softly. "No. No _mellon nîn_, I cannot. I won't leave you in the dark here by yourself another minute. I would die for you rather than leave here alone. We have had this conversation already," he reminded firmly, wondering how it might be possible to pick the locks. Reaching up as Legolas argued, he felt the manacles and was angered to feel how they cut into Legolas' soft skin.

The boy perked up at this and shifted uneasily though he said nothing. Thorongil had not been here earlier. They could not have spoken thus. It was impossible.

"Yes, and you deliberately ignored me," Legolas pointed out, gritting his teeth and hissing quietly with a suppressed cry as Aragorn accidentally tugged at his cuffs a bit too harshly. The man apologized quickly and ceased his inspection for the time being, afraid to hurt the Elf again.

They didn't have much time but there was no way to pick these without a light. Even if they had the key it would probably be impossible. Sighing inaudibly in frustration, the ranger turned to the fifteen-year old boy and growled dangerously, "Where is the key?"

The boy choked up in fear, misunderstanding Aragorn's anger to be directed at him and he didn't answer. He was unable to find his voice.

Aragorn growled again, "Where is the key?" He was not blessed with the luxury of having patience considering the small window of time he had to free Legolas and so his voice was low but sharp.

Legolas gently intervened on behalf of his newer friend. "He has done me no harm, Thorongil. Leave him alone."

Aragorn reluctantly submitted to the prince's request and sat down quietly beside the Elf. He was not defeated, not yet, but there was nothing else he could do for the time being. It was too dark to get the prince free without causing him more pain and from the way he could feel the Elf trembling at his side, he knew that Legolas had been through enough. If getting him out of the shackles and out of harms way meant causing him more harm then Aragorn didn't have the heart for it. Besides, there had to be another way. There just had to be.

Legolas' voice lost some of its normally calm demeanour as he asked in disconcertion, "What are you doing?" His tone was unsteady and Aragorn reached upward, grabbing one of his freezing hands and holding it gently.

"Staying with you," he answered simply, preparing himself for the compilation of reasons why he was behaving like an idiot that he knew the Elf was capable of contriving on very short notice.

But Legolas was not himself. He gave no real reason other than one for his outbreak of uncharacteristic desperation but merely plead with Aragorn in a low and nearly inaudible voice. "You must leave! They will kill you! Right in front of me! Don't you understand? Can't you understand at all? That would be the worst torture for me to have to go through, even compared to what I know is coming!" Aragorn felt him shiver and shuffled consolingly closer to the prince, but was surprised when Legolas stiffened and tried to squirm away. "You. Have. To. Leave." Each word Legolas spoke was made into a sentence by emphasis.

Aragorn refused to listen and shook his head before whispering, "Never. Either we go home together or we don't go home at all. What has gotten into you to be acting so strangely?" he questioned, too tired to guess and too impatient to wait upon the evasive Elf. He knew that Legolas would avoid the subject for a considerable amount of time… forever if at all possible.

There was a heavy silence. Legolas answered at last, "They plan to sell me out to some man -yes, I think he is a man. I am not sure," he amended his thoughts as he spoke. "His name thus far has been Sharky. He means to keep me for… for… making a new breed of orc." Aragorn could feel the fear radiating from the Elf. Legolas had never been this afraid in Harad, even at the prospect of death because death was something he could handle. He would retain himself in death. To turn him into the thing he hated most by letting that thing cause him pain beyond the point of where it was capable of being borne was more than he could ask of the prince.

Aragorn didn't know what he could say that could comfort his friend at all. The only comfort would be in getting him free from the heavy threat of torment and death. Turning to look across Legolas even though he couldn't even see in the dark, he asked the boy impatiently, "Who has the key?" His voice was still a bit sharper than was necessary because of his own fear for his dearest friend.

The fifteen-year-old answered shakily, "My father." Legolas may trust this human, but he couldn't help but be afraid. After all, it was his father and people who had dared bring harm to the Elf. He didn't believe that could garner any love from Thorongil.

Aragorn's next question was predicted by Legolas beforehand and he interrupted quietly before ranger could finish. "Could you-"

"Do not ask that of him, Thorongil. It would prove fruitless and more trouble than it is worth." Legolas' murmured interjection was barely acknowledged by the desperate ranger, whose only thoughts were to get his closest friend free.

Aragorn didn't quite understand what Legolas was speaking of, but all his life he had trusted the Elf and if Legolas said it would only cause unnecessary trouble then he was obligated to believe him.

Aragorn rose to inspect Legolas' manacles once more through touch, just too see if he could identify at the least the type of mechanism of the lock. Just then there was a low grumble of irritation caused by a woken sleeper and the sound of the human staggering groggily to his feet. "I warned you about talking Elf…" the slurred threat bounced eerily off the walls between two claps of thunder. "You are going to get it… you are…"

Aragorn froze automatically as lighting hit directly outside the cave, making the Elf, boy and ranger flinch simultaneously. The light penetrated the cave with painful brightness, revealing everything, even minute crevices that were before unnoticeable. Aragorn suddenly found himself being gawked at by the barely awake man as though he had three heads and a barbed tail.

He stood there for a moment, observing the attempted prisoner escape before he remembered that he had a voice. Applying it liberally, he hollered at the top of his lungs, rushing over other sleeping or waking men to try and restrain the ranger.

Aragorn placed himself protectively between the angry men and Legolas, ready to go down fighting rather than allow any more harm to befall Legolas, who had taken as much as he could handle in one night. Besides, it wasn't Legolas' fault that he had come to try and rescue him and Aragorn would be damned if he would let his friend take the punishment for his actions. Taking a defensive stance, he chanced a glance back over at the Elf to see Legolas looking defiant but alarmed and irritated with what he was doing. It was obvious that the prince wished that he would escape.

The boy separated himself from them as he saw his father. Ceorl rose with a satisfied smirk on his face as a dozen crossbows were levelled on Thorongil and torches flared up. However, the blonde man's eyes narrowed when he saw his son and he growled out, "Why did you not raise an alarm?" He knew very well his son had allowed Aragorn in and he was not going to tolerate it.

The boy stammered in fear as a he shuffled grudgingly forward towards the others. "I-I-I-"

Aragorn relieved him of an answer. "I told him I would kill him. You have a good son. He does as he's told." The ranger feigned the incident, knowing that for some odd reason Legolas cared about the fate of the fifteen-year-old. The child must not be like the others, because Aragorn knew he was the only human the prince wholly trusted.

Ceorl seemed to accept the answer for now since there were more immediate problems at hand. Glaring at Legolas, he shook his head and '_tsked'_ under his breath. Clasping his hands behind his back, the human sauntered over until he was standing in front of Thorongil looking accusingly around the ranger at the captive. "You know I cannot let this go unpunished, don't you Legolas?" Legolas shifted uneasily, his pain from his other wounds suddenly flaring up in memory. "You tried to escape _me_," reasoned Ceorl all too calmly.

Thorongil glared at Ceorl through the coldest set of grey eyes the man had ever seen. He was forced to suppress a shiver as he read clearly that Thorongil would kill him one of these days. Well, he would make sure that the ranger was never given such a chance.

The ranger snarled fiercely, knowing perfectly well that he had nothing to lose. He was already submerged over his head in this and he meant to get deeper. "Do not TOUCH him, or you will answer to me." His hand went instinctively for his broadsword but he froze as the men closed in tighter with their crossbows, promising a swift death should he draw.

Ceorl smiled evilly and Legolas shivered, knowing they meant to kill his best friend. The nightmare he had feared would come true right before his eyes and he was not able to raise a finger to stop it. Helpless terror squeezed his heart.

"Surrender your weapons, Thorongil, and come forward," Ceorl demanded, holding out his hand expectantly to accept Thorongil's sword, quiver and arrows.

Legolas cried out to the ranger frantically, "No! Don't surrender! Fight, Thorongil! Fight!" His hands clenched above his head in their bonds as he twisted in them, ignoring his pain and struggling to get to Aragorn's side and support him. He knew it was futile but he couldn't help it. He felt the hot trickle of blood running down his arms as the metal cut into his wrists' vulnerable skin.

Aragorn didn't even turn around, but tried to calm the Elf kindly, "Peace, Legolas." His instincts were screaming at him to fight but he wasn't going to force Legolas to watch him die or get the Elf into more trouble.

Legolas' eyes had became wide as he realized that Aragorn was about to relinquish his weapons and give in for his sake. The prince's breath immediately accelerated and he insisted, "Thorongil! Don't you dare!"

Aragorn turned around as he was unbuckling his scabbard from his belt. Soothingly, he murmured, "Shhhhhh… please _mellon nîn_." He didn't want the prince to attract attention to himself, even if he already had about as much as he could get anyway.

Legolas became silent but he sparred with Ceorl in a baleful glare. The man merely grinned broader and walked closer to Thorongil, accepting all the ranger's weapons and passing them off to some of his eagerly helpful but groggy men. "Smart choice," he whispered, tilting his head pointedly over at Legolas. "I would hate to have to harm him further."

The archers continued to keep Aragorn in the sights of their bows and showed no sign of releasing their vigil any time soon. Aragorn had expected Legolas to look furious with him, or be glaring like a drenched cat, but the defeated expression in Legolas' blue eyes broke Aragorn's heart. It was entirely out of Legolas' character and a shiver ran up his spine.

A handful of Ceorl's men advanced towards the ranger with a length of rope, appropriately sized for binding the man's hands. Aragorn's muscles tensed as he openly showed that he was unwilling to be bound like that.

Ceorl sighed in annoyance. Side-stepping around the ranger, actually shoving Thorongil partially out of his path, the blonde man reached Legolas' side in less than two strides. Flicking open a knife that he had drawn from his boot, he examined it in the firelight tauntingly for a moment before slipping it behind Legolas' left ear's tip. Legolas flinched but was unable to withdraw as Ceorl pressed the delicate point threateningly against the blade.

Aragorn watched as Legolas closed his eyes, waiting to feel the excruciating pain that only an Elf could fully appreciate and know if the point was severed. Even though he wondered how Ceorl knew about the Elven weakness, Aragorn doubted that the man was bluffing and he held his hands outward, already pressed together. He was taking no chances with Legolas' wellbeing. Although, he did have to give Ceorl credit for his creativity. No one ever had threatened him with cutting off the tips of his best friend's ears before.

However, after he felt the ropes twining about his wrists and becoming uncomfortably tighter by the minute he noticed that Ceorl had still not removed the knife tip from behind Legolas' ear and was still smiling manically. "I have complied! What are you doing?" Aragorn growled in his friend's defence. He should have known that his acquiescence in his own capture was no assurance that they would keep their end of the bargain but still, he had been hoping…

"Relax, I can harm him no further according to my superiors, which means he will keep his little points!" The man flicked one of them after withdrawing his blade, causing Legolas to recoil and jerk his head out of range of more taunts and blows the man might deal out. "It's just so amusing to see him squirm," the man looked directly at Legolas as he spoke the barb, hoping to see a reaction but went unrewarded.

The fifteen-year-old boy watched everything in silence, his scrutinizing gaze constantly changing from person to person.

Aragorn's eyes suddenly saw the brands on his friend's abdomen and the inflamed edges. The ranger had not spared a second to look before but he felt his blood boil now. He could tell that they had been cleansed but in the flickering firelight they still looked sinister. The bruises and abrasions decorating Legolas' face and upper body were noticed but didn't acquire as much of the ranger's attention as the three brands that had been applied. He had known that Legolas had been in horrible pain but now the cries of his friend that had echoed through his head were perfectly understandable.

However he wasn't permitted more time to consider all that had happened to his friend or where the bucket of bloodied water had come from.

Some men grabbed his shoulders and steered him over to Legolas' side, about to bind him to one of the rings that held Legolas' manacles in place. However, Ceorl stopped them with a raised hand. "Not quite yet," he dictated, motioning for them to bring Aragorn back to stand before Legolas, who was looking genuinely confused. As far as he had known, Aragorn was supposed to die, even though they still might have that in mind.

"Legolas, dear _prince_, we cannot harm you any further without a very good excuse that would be presentable to our superiors. However, you do recall that I said this was not going to go unpunished, do you not?" he inquired, watching with satisfaction as a look of complete horror stretched across Legolas' fair face. Legolas knew that evil twinkle in the man's soulless eyes, but this time it was different and the Elf was sure as to why.

Eyes widening, Legolas was so intent on what was about to transpire that he forgot that the deplorable man had used his title. "No!" he croaked, before he found his voice. "No!" But here, of course, he had no authority and the beatings he had taken earlier had left his voice without its demanding tone. He was merely making a request in their eyes, nothing more and they knew it.

Ceorl appeared to be reconsidering his choice and mulling over his options before he suddenly laughed and said, "How about… yes?"

Legolas' hands clenched above his head and he dug his feet into the ground as he pulled himself up against his bonds, supporting his back with the wall, still forced to remain in a half crouched position. His wrists chaffed more against the metal wrapped around them, but that suddenly didn't matter so much anymore. "He did nothing wrong! It was I who tried to escape! Please, don't do this!"

Ceorl muttered nonchalantly, "Have you not figured out that you are not expendable and he is, therefore he will suffer the consequences for all of your actions?"

Turning to Aragorn, he seemed to be contemplating where to start but he figured it out rather quickly. Drawing his fist back, he slammed it with brute force into Aragorn's jaw, making the ranger stagger backwards and fall. Smiling wickedly, Ceorl cracked his knuckles. "I liked that."

Aragorn tried to get back up but a man delivered a harsh kick to his abdomen, causing him to curl in one himself in meagre defence against more blows. Ceorl motioned for the other men to get out of the way and went at Aragorn himself, landing a savage and well placed kick into the man's ribs and eliciting a cry of surprise and pain that caused Legolas to flinch.

Aragorn couldn't believe what amount of pain well placed kicks could impose on a body and he curled into himself tighter. It wasn't much of a defence, but it was all that he had.

He wasn't aware of too much after the next two kicks and so when someone cried out it took him a few moments to realize that it had been himself. The blows came in rapid succession and when Ceorl was sure he had subdued Aragorn sufficiently, he dragged the other man up by the front of his tunic.

However, he wasn't finished.

"This is why you must never cross me again Elf," he glanced over with satisfaction at Legolas, who was trembling in anxiety and the shameful guilt that was ripping him apart. Looking back down at Aragorn, he added, "And if _you_ cross me I can make this a whole lot worse. I am not even finished with this little lesson yet. Legolas, why don't you enlighten your friend as to some of the things that you endured for your… disobedience and barbed tongue?"

Legolas retained some of his composure but a lot of his fear leaked out in a one-worded whisper, "Thorongil…"

:0Ї0:

The hours seemed to tick by slower than they ever had in Legolas' entire life as he had watched his friend writhe between the two spears wedged into the earth. If someone told Legolas that millennia had passed he would readily believe it. The man's wrists had been bound to the top of the spears, just as Legolas' had earlier and the prince couldn't help but shake as he watched his friend suffer in the same position he had found himself in not too long ago.

Ceorl appeared to have completed his work at last and Legolas was relieved to see that he had rejected the branding idea with Aragorn. All the same, he had done the human considerable hurt.

His wrists had torn against the rough rope used to bind his hands, though luckily they had not cut into the main artery. All the same, blood ran down in minor trickles from underneath the rope, but that was nothing compared to the other injuries even if none were life threatening.

Aragorn's breathing had accelerated to a dangerous rate and his eyes were tightly closed in recovery as he struggled to maintain some rough sort of composure. Legolas felt sick just looking at the human's unnaturally pale and almost green face. It made the Elf cringe to know that Aragorn had done this for him, to spare him any more pain and loneliness. The man didn't _have_ to get captured for him and endure this but he had.

The man had been kicked some more, and from the bruising developing on his ribcage area Legolas could tell that there wereat least two broken ribs but probably more. Blood showed on the man's back where he had been flogged –over fifteen lashes with a singled tongued lash, Legolas had counted, shuddering with each one as he remembered what it was like.

Sweat had pooled on the ranger's face and he lifted it now, his grey eyes opening to gaze deep into Legolas' blue ones. There was no regret in them, or self-pity. Legolas could tell the only thing the ranger was sorry for was that he had to watch him suffer.

Ceorl came between them, kicking Aragorn in the mouth with the back of his heel as though he was nothing more than an aggravating dog. Legolas glared dangerously as the man didn't even notice the blood that dribbled down Aragorn's chin. This, Ceorl ignored as well. "So, Legolas, did we learn our lesson, hm?" he asked, cupping Legolas' chin in his hand and forcing the Elf to keep eye contact.

Legolas wanted to make one of his witty remarks that he should have been known for by now but he didn't want Aragorn to take a blow for something he had said. Shame stung on his cheeks as they flushed crimson despite his otherwise pasty pale features and he was sure that Ceorl felt the excessive heat on his hand. "Yes," his voice was soft but his eyes were hard as they gazed into the man's, clearly belying any submissive answer he might give.

Ceorl knew this, but he had managed to get the Elf to cough up the words. There would be time to make them genuine later. Releasing Legolas' chin with a downward thrust, he smiled in meagre satisfaction. "Good," he said, his voice gloating.

Motioning to the men standing near Aragorn, he gestured uncaringly, "Cut him down."

There was a soft set of two _snick_ noises and Aragorn crumpled unceremoniously to the ground like a wet piece of paper. He immediately regretted his hard fall as pain burned through his ribs and he curled up tighter. His eyes were shut again but he could hear everything and his heart burned as he heard the metallic clinking of Legolas fighting against his shackles, struggling to be at his side. The Elf seemed to have come to life again and was repeatedly jerking against the manacles, trying to break free.

Ceorl looked at Legolas through the corners of his eyes and shook his head. "Relax, Elf." A wicked smile crossed his face. "Or maybe we need to commence another lesson, hm?" His eyes seemed to light up and Legolas sank back against the wall, submitting to the chains that held him securely in place. His eyes continued to focus desperately on the ranger and they flickered with anxiety and pain.

"That is what I thought," he goaded, kicking dirt in Aragorn's face, garnering a murderous look from the Elf-prince. "It's all right, _your majesty_, he'll live."

Legolas visibly started and his eyes shifted from Aragorn to look at the Rohirric traitor in shock. He might have covered up his surprise in time if he had not been so anxious for Aragorn, but it was too late for 'might have's'.

Aragorn heard the use of Legolas' proper title and his eyes fluttered open and he tilted his head so that he could see what was transpiring between his friend and the human commander. He knew that Legolas' identity could cause some serious problems for the Elf and he only wished that he could crawl over to get to the prince's side.

Legolas knew that there was no use denying anything and he was sure that they would only harm Aragorn further should he decide to be defiant. Out of pure curiosity, the Elf-prince asked emotionlessly, "When did you discover this?"

Ceorl tried to look as though it had been the easiest thing to come across but Legolas was not easily fooled so the human just continued. "Do you not remember that little note in your boot?"

Legolas remained silent but his cheeks flooded red once more as he remembered the contents of the letter. Those had been the hardest feelings he had ever put on paper and he had not even let Aragorn read them though he was sure the ranger could tell what they were without looking. It deeply bothered the Elf that his most painful and sensitive thoughts were now in the hands of a heartless and unfeeling traitor.

"You cannot read Elvish, what would you care or know about it?" His voice was unsurprisingly hoarse and his eyes had grown large against his will as his body reacted to the alarm surging through it.

"I couldn't," conceded the man around a belying grin. "A messenger that came a little while ago could. Your poor father," he mocked, feigning tears as he spat accurately on the Elf, instigating Legolas to withdraw closer against the wall at his back. "Well, you'll never see him again, Legolas."

The words hit Legolas as harshly as a slap in the face even though his facial expression didn't change much. He had known it since his capture, of course, and admitted it to himself regularly but to hear those words coming from this man's mouth made him sick. It was like a promise had been made and it seemed to slice clear to the depths of his heart, which had been made vulnerable since Aragorn's capture and torment.

"Have a nice remainder of the night," Ceorl stated, patting Legolas' cheek coldly with his callused hand. He had said enough, that much he could read on the Elf's face and in his eyes. Somewhere, deep inside, he had struck a painful chord and that left him feeling rather satisfied. He would sleep well until dawn.

Looking at Aragorn, who was lying defencelessly on the stony ground he shrugged uncaringly. "Put him by the Elf –but make sure that he is thoroughly secured even though," his eyes connected with Legolas' blue ones, "I doubt that they will try to escape."

Aragorn was yanked to his feet by his arms and dragged with little resistance over to Legolas, who was watching everything as though in a stupor, still hanging on the words that Ceorl had spoken. He was observing everything in a silent disbelief and denial. He couldn't believe that he was here, that Aragorn was here, that these men knew his weakest point and that he was going to end up dying.

The ranger's hands were yanked up and his ropes untied and threaded through one of the iron circles holding Legolas' manacles against the wall before they were once again bound around his bleeding wrists. He was pressed uncomfortably close to Legolas so that to even be slightly relaxed he had to rest his head on Legolas' bloodied and bruised shoulder. However, he had no intention of causing Legolas any more pain and would rather suffer himself.

The men circled the prisoners for a little while, but quickly lost interest since there was obviously going to be no further entertainment coming at their prisoners' expense that night. If they had expected either the Elf or ranger to break down and sob they were sorely disappointed.

Ceorl had long ago retired to stretch out on his pallet by a dimming fire. "Come men," he cheerfully invited those still lingering hungrily around the bound prisoners. "Rest. We have much to do tomorrow." However, his invitation had not been extended to his own son and even if it was, it was likely the boy would not wish to accept.

Even so, the fifteen-year-old liked to think that he had been invited and that he had merely declined the invite. It was less painful that way even though he was practically numb to pain, or had been until these bothersome captives were taken into custody. He had never known himself to have feelings of open caring for anyone before. He had always concentrated on himself. The last person he had cared about –his mother– had died.

Staying in the shadows, he watched the quiet exchange between Legolas and Aragorn with keen interest. He wondered at the way they spoke, as brothers, having never been so close to anyone in his life. It was the marvelling feeling he had experienced watching the ranger take Legolas' punishment without complaint, understanding his friend was in desperate need of a reprieve. The rain picked up again and the weather took a turn for the worse once more, which was not a good sign, almost like an omen.

Legolas didn't meet Aragorn's gaze and the ranger knew why. The Elf didn't want the ranger to see the moisture in his eyes. Aragorn whispered quietly into the prince's ear, being sure to use Elvish. "They are liars. Put faith in me and in yourself. You will see your father again in this world."

Legolas twisted his face away, feeling his breathing accelerating as he suppressed a sob. It was barely visible for any of the captors to notice, but for Aragorn, who knew the Elf like the back of his hand, it was easily evident. Legolas shook his head, disavowing his friend's words. "How do you know we aren't clinging to a false hope? You have to admit that this situation is overwhelmingly against us."

Aragorn knew the question he was about to ask was probably walking on thin ice but he was willing to risk it. "What was in the letter?"

Legolas went blank, emotionless, as he remembered everything himself. Shuddering, he answered thoughtfully, "I don't want to talk about it… I miss him sometimes, you know?" He couldn't avoid the subject, even if he could avoid a direct answer. All of his pain and his torment had been pent up inside and was tearing itself up within the confines of his heart.

"Legolas, we'll get out of this. I promise. You still have to see me crowned king some day, remember?" His soft spoken Elvish brought a small smile to Legolas' face. Aragorn smiled too. "You promised."

Legolas nodded, assuring the ranger he hadn't forgotten. "I did."

"And you have never broken a promise," Aragorn reminded encouragingly, shifting in his bonds a little as the circulation to his hands lessened. The tingling sensation had almost been forgotten since Harad, but now he was recalling how annoying it was. This was not lost on the Elf, who glared bitterly at the human's bonds.

Legolas was quiet a moment. "Never." A heavy silence fell over everything only broken by the rain and the laughs of the jovial men, who knew that the game was in play and that they were so far winning. "But, Estel, I cannot see it, my home. I remember what it looks like, but I can't see myself walking there again."

Aragorn didn't know what to say and honestly, he was feeling a little sick. Elves were known to be able to see ahead into the future, though he didn't know whether or not Legolas possessed such a gift. Deciding that he wanted some time to think about things and also knowing all his friend had endured, and was still enduring, also having a good idea of what he was going to endure, the ranger advised, "Maybe it is because you are too tired. Sleep, my friend. I will look after you."

The gentle Elven words in the tongue of Legolas' people brought some consolation to the prince and he leaned back against the wall in an effort to relax a little. To his credit, he wasn't allowing the cave to coerce him so much. Aragorn was right; he was feeling exhausted and craved rest. Elf or not, he needed the amnesty only sleep could bring. Outwardly he lied, "I am an Elf. I am not tired. You sleep. I will look over you."

However, the Elf's bleary eyes and abnormally submissive behaviour were not lost on the ranger. True, since Harad the Elf had softened and become less defiant and more quiet and elusive, but this was not in his line of character at all. Usually he was much more vibrant. "My friend, you can barely keep your eyes open," Aragorn was quick to point out as Legolas blinked vapidly.

Legolas thought of protesting, he honestly did, but Aragorn was right… he was too tired. Sighing in temporary submission to his friend's request, the prince desperately stifled a yawn, still not willing to admit that he was so tired. "If you are going to keep on with this annoying insistence then I suppose it is pointless to refuse?"

Aragorn smiled despite the grim situation and the fact that Legolas' changed behaviour was frightening him. "Exactly. So rest. I will wake you later," he urged the Elf gently, careful not to sound overly pushy.

"No you won't… you never do," Legolas countered even as he allowed his eyes to close, blocking out the oppressive cave, and the darkness, and the men and Aragorn's battered figure. Even his breathing seemed to be oppressed, and Legolas knew it went beyond the physical aspect of a few cracked and/or broken ribs. It was the atmosphere… the crushing feeling of an impending doom.

"You are right," Aragorn admitted in a semi-droll tone. "I probably won't." His voice trailed off as he saw Legolas' eyes close, even though since Harad that had been relatively common. The memories were still vivid and even Aragorn had nightmares about them every now and then; nightmares that made him regret ever taking Legolas with him. He was aging the supposedly ageless immortal and the painful part was that Legolas was perfectly willing to let it happen.

Legolas' breathing took a long time to become regulated, or at least as regulated as it could possibly get considering the circumstances and Legolas' wounds. It was obvious that the Elf, as tired as he was, was apparently too unnerved for sleep to come easily and Aragorn couldn't blame him.

Inspecting Legolas' wounds since he could get a good look at them from where he had been bound, the man winced in sympathy. The light from a flickering torch barely cast enough light to reveal them, but Aragorn was used to working under such conditions.

There were three brand marks, still inflamed and looking just as sinister as when he had first laid eyes on them. He couldn't get a good look at Legolas' shoulders but he could tell from the dried blood that the Elf had tasted the lash for a time and from the bruises and abrasions his kicking session had lasted far longer than Aragorn's.

Broken ribs and whip wheals he could deal with within reason, but Aragorn's healing expertise told him that if the brands were not tended to better than being sloshed with clean water, then Legolas was running the serious risk of developing a severe infection . It was one of the few things Elves could succumb to and in this state.

The fifteen-year-old finally crept out of the shadows as he noticed Aragorn observing Legolas' wounds with tender care, seeing the last of the men going back to sleep for a couple of hours. Standing by Aragorn he seemed to be trying to form words. Finally, the boy asked hesitantly, "Why did you do that?"

Aragorn gave him an expectant as well as questioning look. When the boy didn't understand he asked quietly, "Do what?" He turned his attention away from the youth as his anxiety for Legolas began to peak deep inside.

"Come for him, get tormented –for him? You two are close," he finished his inquiry with the soft, tentative statement. He doubted there was anyone who would do that for him and somehow that made him feel sick and abandoned.

"He is my friend," Aragorn answered simply. "And really more like a brother. I dragged him into this; none of it was his fault. It is my responsibility as a friend to see him through it." The man's voice was hoarse and he cleared it, barely able to avoid waking people up.

"What has he done for you?" the boy asked, sitting by Aragorn. He didn't know what it was, but he trusted these two almost without question and he wanted whatever it was that they had. He was desperate for companionship and true camaraderie with someone. After all, everybody needed a friend.

Aragorn winced at those words. Actually the Elf had done a lot more than he could ever do in return. It was Legolas who had gotten them through Harad; he was convinced, even if in the end he had rescued the Elf. Legolas had been fearless, even in the face of death and gotten them both out of prison when Aragorn wouldn't have blamed him if he had given up. "More than I can repay him for."

Aragorn noticed the boy's foot and remembered his crippled condition.

"What is it like?" asked the youth, watching Aragorn's face intently for the man's reaction. If he had noticed what Aragorn had been looking at, he didn't show it. Aragorn was sure that he had noticed and he quickly diverted his eyes back to Legolas, just to check on his friend and make sure that the Elf was actually sleeping.

"What is what like?" Aragorn asked tiredly, barely able to stay awake himself and follow this conversation. His head leaned against Legolas' shoulder, causing the Elf to stir slightly, nearly wake up and sink back into a fitful sleep. There was comfort in being close to each other and Aragorn felt some of his pain lessen.

"To have a friend that would do anything for you."

Aragorn thought silently for a moment, remembering the good and the bad times that he and Legolas had shared. Finally he spoke, but his voice was absorbed in memories. "It's difficult to explain… to have a friend that would do anything for you… um, well… It is similar to… I really don't know how to say this." He was quiet for a while longer before he tried again to put everything he felt in his heart into words. Since his head was throbbing and he could hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears this was a harder thing to accomplish than he had ever thought it could be.

"It is like having a brother, only I don't think you fight as much… it is like your hearts are sort of attached. You are one. You never feel alone… at least not for long." There were absolutely no words to accurately describe his appreciation or the feeling of their friendship, so these would have to do.

Legolas must have drifted out of sleep at the soft sound of voices near his ears and he murmured in a slurred voice, "It's like being a pillow." The Elf rotated his shoulder stiffly to make his point, but permitted the ranger to keep his head there as he was too tired and too depressed to care and it felt good to feel a friend so close. He wasn't so afraid anymore and his spirits were lifted a little. Aragorn had promised that he would get him home.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long for the exhausted Elf to drift back into a fitful sleep and Aragorn smiled sorrowfully. The youth sitting beside them pulled the ranger out of a reverie of fond memories of Rivendell, and of sleeping in the Hall of Fire with the twins and Legolas after they had all partied more than was good for them. Even if his reminiscence didn't possess the dream-like vision of the Elves' that could place them practically in the memory, his was still very vivid. He could almost smell the sweet smell of wood smoke again….

"I did what I could for his wounds," the boy's voice was consoling, possessing about the nicest tone Aragorn had heard out of these people. Blinking, he looked with unfocused eyes at the fifteen-year-old. He could tell that someone had done something but the boy's confirmation clarified it.

"Thank you." He was beginning to strongly feel the effects of his torment as the adrenaline in his system began to wear off, taking its toll. Now he was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. The rush of the endorphins entering and dispersing in his body had left him with an acute feeling of nausea that made him feel as though he had been punched in the gut… which during some time in his session, he had. To take his mind of his sickness, the human asked in a drowsy voice, "What is your name?"

There was a heavy silence. "I don't have one." The boy looked uneasily at his hands lying idly in his lap. "Ask your friend," said the youth, playing with his fingers nervously. "I am sure he can explain it. But right now you need rest and we had better get quiet before my father or anyone else hears this conversation. I don't think you or your friend would appreciate the consequences."

Aragorn recognized frustration and irritation in the youth's voice and decided to let it go. After all, the boy was right. They couldn't afford to get into trouble again and this conversation could definitely do just that. Twisting in his bonds so that his back was to the wall, Aragorn winced as his chaffed wrists were cut deeper by the harsh cords. He could feel fresh blood seeping around the binding.

The boy looked up at the bonds and winced in empathy and familiarity. The expression was not lost on Aragorn, but he decided almost immediately not to become involved. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know anyway, it might actually make him think worse of this situation if that was at all possible.

Sighing, the man wriggled closer to the Elf, feeling suddenly cold and trying to conserve the heat he still had. Legolas seemed to realize this in his fitful sleep and subconsciously moved closer to the ranger, providing what warmth he could. The fifteen-year-old watched them for a moment and then stood up wearily before hobbling over to a forlorn corner. He had a lot to think about.

Aragorn opened his eyes as he felt the younger human abscond from his side, but made no move to prevent it. He recognized the look in the boy's eyes that had all too often been reflected in his own. The look of wanting to be alone and invisible.

Feeling too tired, he allowed his head to loll against Legolas' shoulder, careful not to bear down on a bruise. His eyes felt like they had lids of lead and they slid shut, no matter how much he fought them. The rain droned against the cave ceiling and walls, creating a hushed rhythm and a calm atmosphere. The last thought he had before he slipped into a deep sleep was that Legolas was going to kill him in the morning. He had never woken the Elf up.

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Roth felt frozen stiff. He couldn't move and was practically laying on Elrohir, who was groaning beneath him. He felt just about as sore even if he wasn't completely drenched and battered.

The rain had been unbelievably heavy not to mention oppressive. Roth had actually found himself wondering if you could drown from rain alone when it became hard to breathe. Now it had eased off into a gentle drizzle that would have been wonderful had he been indoors with a hot mug of steaming tea and Helluin snuggling at his side by the fire. At the moment though, the rain was positively miserable and only darkened the gloomy scenario.

The lighting had also slowed in its frequency and so the world mostly cast into darkness. Occasionally, thunder would rip through the air, making all of them cringe in surprise and crouch closer to one another. "Elrohir?"

The younger twin gasped in pain before answering Roth's inquiry. "Yes?"

"How's Elladan?" Roth's voice sounded hoarse and Elrohir heard the topmost Elf clear it before continuing. "Is he still dry?"

"I'm fine," murmured the older twin from beneath his twin's protection, feeling somewhat guilty about their sacrifice.

"I thought you were unconscious?" Elrohir inquired accusingly, staring into Elladan's bleary eyes.

Elladan swallowed hard around his pain that was barely controllable. "Not recently," he voice was a soft croak. "It comes and goes." His blood loss wasn't too bad anymore but his consciousness fluctuated between being aware and not, in an attempt to recover strength and escape the agony of the wound that went clear through his body.

Elrohir was silent, breathing heavily as he wondered how much longer he could remain conscious since he was still losing blood, even if it wasn't in considerable amounts. Roth spoke up for his friend when he noticed the lull in the conversation. "Well, we are going to take you to Mirkwood. You'll be healed there. Lord Elrond is still there."

Elladan smiled but was still unable to belie the effects of his pain that were shown on his pasty and pale face. Elrohir saw this and scowled but his brother only asked softly, "How are you, Elrohir?" He reached a clammy hand up and traced Elrohir's white face gently.

Elrohir winced at the coldness of Elladan's hand and how it shook against his cheek. "I'm alright. My wound is… fine… already healing actually…"

"Don't lie to me," Elladan said with more force than he knew he was capable of at the moment. Suddenly he closed his eyes; it was getting harder to keep them open. He smiled again as he felt Elrohir's fingers wrap around his cold, drawn ones and squeeze them gently on consolation.

"I am not lying," he responded with a forced grin. "Merely exaggerating."

"Same difference," Elladan managed out, enjoying the meagre jesting that was actually semi-serious. He squeezed his brother's hand back reassuringly. "Anyway, everything will be all right…" His hand suddenly went limp in Elrohir's and slid free, falling onto his chest beside the exit wound.

Elrohir gave a soft cry of surprise and then, twisted his face to look over his shoulder pleadingly at Rothinzil. "We are going to have to brave the rain and start leaving now. He isn't going to make it like this. His wound isn't beyond my expertise but I don't have the supplies to heal him."

Roth sighed, but knew that they had no other options. Legolas would have to get out of this one on his own, with Aragorn, or not at all. He missed them both and he was torn between telling Elrohir that he couldn't possibly help and doing all he could for the twins. He knew that this was just as hard for them, abandoning their little brother and friend.

"All right," he conceded at last. "How are we going to bear him?" He knew that his wound wouldn't permit extra weight for extended periods of time and neither would Elrohir's. If they had a horse this wouldn't have been such a dire situation but they didn't and they didn't have the materials to make a stretcher either.

"I don't know," Elrohir admitted in an almost defeated voice. He hadn't thought of that and it was rather discouraging. The rain was still falling but slowly it was failing, though it was still dark. There was no more thunder or lightning so no one could see. For a moment Elrohir wondered if they would die here, or at least if Elladan would.

Roth's urgently voice caught his attention. "There are hoof beats against the ground, can you not hear them?"

Elrohir was quiet and then said thoughtfully, "Dear Roth, everything seems to have been faded out lately. I am sorry. It appears your hearing is more attentive or better than mine." The younger twin strained to hear past the rain and gradually, as his emotions faded to back of his mind for a moment, replaced by leeriness, he could hear it. "A small company?" he questioned Roth almost under his breath, seeking confirmation.

Roth nodded slightly, even though he knew Elrohir couldn't see him in the dark. "I believe so."

He didn't have to say what they all were thinking. Were they all about to be killed? Did their attacker's companions know that the attempt on their lives had failed and that they needed to be finished off? Roth felt Elrohir tense under him and hug his brother close in a protective way.

"Well we won't go down without a fight," Roth growled determinedly, not ready embrace death quite yet and planning to stall it as long as possible. He reached towards his back to where his quiver and his one long knife were. The knife resembled a small sword but was more elegant and curved. It was bigger than either of Legolas' twin knives and was Roth's personal preference when it came to close combat. Not only that, it had been the butt end of so many of Legolas' jokes in the past that they were no longer funny.

Elrohir just sighed wearily. "How much of a fight?" He doubted they could keep it up for long and he didn't want to abandon his brother's side to have his other half be killed, probably trampled, right off. He then again, as a warrior his heart's desire would be to die fighting if his immortal life had to end.

"As much as we can."

"Maybe they will miss us in the dark?" Elrohir asked logically as well as being nearly optimistic and in a low whisper.

"They have torches, I can see them," Roth said emotionlessly, pulling himself off of Elrohir, disturbed at how he felt about as heavy as a lump of lead. His muscles were slow to respond and his thoughts seemed to be sluggish. He had a sinking feeling that it was going to be a short fight and he wished he could tell his children and Helluin good-bye.

Elrohir frowned and knowing Roth's mood all too well, he pulled out his sword while still leaning protectively over Elladan. He was not going to let these people have an easy victim even though there was precious little that he could do about it.

The horses were almost literally on top of them and the riders reined them in without a word, circling the three Elves, spears poised to kill if the need arose. There were only three men, so it was almost an equal match. However, they wore armour and had the livery of King Thengel's most trusted soldiers. Elrohir had seen them before and his curiosity was rapidly peaking.

Speaking quickly in Elvish, he demanded of Roth, "Speak to them. Tell them we mean no harm to man or horse. Tell them we are in need of their aid." Roth was reluctant and the younger twin snapped, "Do it _now_!" He had been in this land before and knew what to expect, relatively speaking. He hadn't been prepared to get shot, have his best friend kidnapped and his little brother run off in pursuit.

Roth quickly spoke to the men, eyeing them critically as he addressed them. "We mean no harm to man or beast. We need your aid. We are wounded. One of us has taken a grievous wound and is dying as I speak." He knew they were running a large risk and in his mind, they were taking far too many things for granted. They didn't know these men's loyalties and didn't know their intentions. If Elrohir hadn't demanded this, he would have never done it. It was his respect for the elder Elf that had provoked him to follow through. "One friend and a brother were taken captive," he added, gauging the men's expressions.

The men didn't look malicious, even if they did look suspicious, confused and surprised. "Three Elves, and you seek our trust?"

"We speak no lies," Roth answered in a soft voice, afraid that Elrohir's faith had been placed in the wrong people. "We are in dire need of help-"

"Who are you? Name yourselves!" One of the three men demanded, his oil lighted torch flickering with the wind. "Be quick! We have urgent business with King Thengel."

Roth swallowed unnoticeably, looking to Elrohir for confirmation and the younger brother nodded tersely. "I am Rothinzil of Greenwood. This is Elrohir and with him is his brother Elladan Peredhil of Imladris."

The men's faces became less cloudy. The names of the twins carried a lot of weight, as they had aided Rohan before. Even if they couldn't identify Rothinzil's name, the fact that he travelled with the twins in their goodwill was enough to give him clearance in their minds. "Come, we have not the time to hear your tale here. When we reach camp, you may explain it and we will help you as we may." Besides, if they were helping the Elves, they were helping themselves. They might get some useful information. There had been some strange goings on.

Roth looked relieved, if still a bit suspicious, but Elrohir almost looked jovial, so the warrior put his suspicions aside for the moment. Proffering a hand to the younger twin, he pulled him up and then sheathed his long knife with the soft noise of metal against velvet as it slipped into its casing.

Elladan lay motionless and white-faced on the ground, looking thinner than Elrohir had ever remembered and frail… helpless. It burned his heart to see his proud brother thus reduced and crippled. If Elladan saw how defenceless he looked then he would have died of humiliation. Elrohir reached down and lightly touched Elladan's closed hand that lay on the ground and then touched his other hand lying limply on his chest.

"Oh, Elladan," he whispered sadly in Elvish, not sure how to move his brother without causing him more pain and injury. Looking over his shoulder, he silently asked Roth for his support, which the other Elf quickly gave.

Kneeling down by Elrohir, Roth placed his hand on the younger twin's good shoulder, still mindful not to apply too much pressure. "It will be all right. Now here," he slid his arms underneath the white-faced Elf, careful not to infuriate the already malignant wound.

Elrohir knew they were low on time and possibly buying trouble from the riders who had been kind enough to help and were pressed at the moment but he simply couldn't allow this of his injured friend. Grabbing Roth's forearm gently, he stopped any of the warrior's movements and said calmly in a way that was almost too soft to be detected, even by Elven ears, "No. He is my brother. I will do it."

Roth had thoughts of arguing but knew they would be futile and not the least bit helpful to the situation. Reluctantly yielding the motionless Elladan into Elrohir's care, he relented, "All right. But if you need help, I am right here." His voice was equally soft and low.

Elrohir nodded numbly, "I know, Roth." His sad eyes looked up at the dark-haired warrior and the orange light of the torch glared in them, reflecting off them in an odd way that made them seem even more sorrowful. "Thank you."

The Riders, pressed as they were, still seemed sympathetic to the Elves' dire situation. They had not dismounted, knowing first of all the pride of the Elves and secondly, not all of them had seen an Elf and knew what to expect. Therefore, they extended no help other than to offer them to ride with them on their horses.

Roth stood in one spot and stared at the men a bit incredulously. True, he had been raised by men, but past experience and living with Legolas for an exceedingly long time as an adopted brother had made him wary. The prince of Mirkwood would certainly not approve, not in the least. But what else was there to do? Pride could only take him so far, this he knew, and he wasn't going to give up his life over a few prejudices anyway. Besides, he had become mortal now, he should fit right in. His father was a man. But that was a long time ago…

He watched as Elrohir was permitted his own horse to be shared with no man since he had refused to allow his brother to be charged into someone else's care. If his brother was to die, he wanted to be the one holding him, even if Elladan never woke up to say good-bye. This, Roth could understand without thinking twice.

Two of the three riders had decided to share a particularly large horse that could easily support two men. The eldest of the three had heard and seen the legendary weightlessness of Elves and therefore, supposed that a horse could support all three. This was true, even if it would be difficult and uncomfortable.

"When we get there," the older of the men told the Elves, "I will show you to the Healing Tent where you can possibly help him and yourselves. However, our supplies have been dwindling and you might not get as much aid as you thought. However," he looked around darkly in the light of the oil torch, "at least it will be a sight warmer."

With that, Roth mounted the horse behind Elrohir and Elladan and took the reins, realizing that Elrohir was a bit preoccupied with keeping his brother collected in his lap as well as reasonably dry. Roth had not the skill of most Elves, being an exceedingly maladroit exception to their kind and even though he _could_ ride without the reins he definitely preferred to have them in his hands. It was a bit reassuring in a sense and he felt more in control, which right now was welcome in almost any form.

Without a word, the riders turned their horses and headed off in the direction of Edoras, where they were sure that a few miles out their Lord, King Thengel, would be encamped. Roth grudgingly heeled the horse encouragingly in the ribs to get it to follow. He started to suddenly feel every cold and almost… sick. Even though he was now mortal, he had never experienced sickness and had taken it for granted that he couldn't get sick. He didn't know right now if that was what was happening or if his ill feeling could possibly be accredited to his wound. It felt like someone had just stuck a torch in his flesh.

**TBC….**

**This was a…wicked…mean…cruel? Hmmm….we were informed that "nasty" is an understatement…now what other adjectives are there to describe this? Either way…this chapter was not Elf and Ranger friendly! LOL **

**Thanks for all the reviews! If you haven't received a response yet, you should soon! **

**And please review! We want to keep hearing from you guys! Your input is very important:D**


	6. A Waking Nightmare

**Okay, well it has come to our attention that some readers think that Legolas angst is going to disappear from our horizons! LOL Not likely! Stay tuned as this story progresses! Trust us here. Okay, it really isn't like you have much choice anyway! LOL ;) **

_I Will Always Return_

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**CHAPTER SIX**

A Waking Nightmare

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Aragorn woke slowly, feeling the Elf hitting against him and crying out softly. Becoming aware of his friend's pleading voice and struggles, the man's eyes shot open. It was still dark, so they couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. Fearing that his friend was in helpless agony, the ranger whispered fiercely, "Legolas! Legolas!" The Elf was not responsive to his pleas and continued to writhe, crying out bits and snatches of nothing.

He was having a nightmare, Aragorn realized when the prince's jumbled and slurred words made no sense no matter how you looked at it. Arms bound, he couldn't shake his friend but he knew he had to quiet Legolas before the men heard it and woke up angry and decided to make a spectacle of the frightened Elf. Frowning, he knew this was uncharacteristic of the prince and he hissed, "Legolas!"

He might kick the fair being or elbow him but he was sure that would do more harm that it would help. The wounds and abrasions would certainly be infuriated by the harsh contact and Legolas would certainly have a rude awakening which would only serve to heighten his groggy panic. "Legolas, _mellon nîn_, I am here, relax. I won't let anything hurt you." His urgent Elvish hung in the air.

Legolas still refused to wake, crying out rather loudly and causing Aragorn to flinch. "Please, my friend," he whispered desperately into the Elf's ear.

The fifteen-year-old boy lifted his head in his corner, pulling himself out of his sleep as the hushed voices murmured through his awareness. Blinking, he found that there was still a torch on the wall, stabbed into a tight crevice that ran from a crack. Starting to get up as he realized that the prisoners were in trouble, the boy grimaced and bit his lip as he found that his crippled foot was exceptionally stiff and sore. It habitually did this during bad weather and he was accustomed to the pain but it still slowed him down more than he was already.

Knowing that if his father was awakened by these two they would receive nothing but hell, the boy hurriedly shuffled towards them, bracing himself against the damp wall for a moment as he allowed the blood to flow to his permanently twisted foot. It hurt for a few more seconds and then appeared to be normal. Testing it gingerly, he then hobbled as quickly as possible towards the torch stabbed into the crevice of a wall.

Grasping it, he pulled it free with a tug and held his breath as the flames flickered and then stabilized. Hurrying towards the pair as fast as he could he eventually crouched in front of Legolas, allowing the torch to fall harmlessly to the stone ground nearby. Looking anxiously at Aragorn he asked in a short whisper, "What is the matter with him?"

Aragorn stopped trying to twist free and shook his head answering. "He is having a bad dream." He called to the prince in a pleading voice, "Legolas! Wake up, _mellon nîn_. Please wake up!"

The boy seemed to understand what Aragorn was trying to do and he shuffled close to Legolas and carefully touched his upper arm with his hand, enclosing it and giving it a soft squeeze. The Elf pulled away with a cry, merging reality with dream as is the way when they sleep. Only this time both were a nightmare. Of course, the fifteen year old could hardly understand this.

The boy slipped his hand over Legolas' mouth to stifle any further cries the Elf might make. Aragorn flinched at this, knowing every well that it could do more harm than good when it came to calming Legolas. The dreams of Elves were more vivid than those of men and everything seemed genuine and palpable. The youth gave the prince's shoulders a firm shake. Legolas jerked back and his hands clenched in the shackles above his head with a cold _clank_ as he saw the cave walls leering down one him, preparing to close in and he felt the hand over his mouth. Panicking, he jerked and writhed, trying to twist his face free.

The boy relinquished his hold quickly and stumbled back, as Aragorn did his best to calm the Elf before things escalated. "_Mellon nîn_, I am here. I am here. See?" Aragorn stretched his bound hand and grabbed Legolas' clenched one, soothingly rubbing his thumb along the top of the prince's hand in an assurance that he was there and he wasn't going to leave. Legolas wasn't alone and nothing was hurting him right now.

The Elf froze, his heart hammering against his chest as he pieced together the actual situation.

Aragorn felt the Elf's muscles relaxing bit by bit as he rubbed his hand. "You had a bad dream, Legolas." He stopped rubbing the prince's hand and simply held it. Legolas unclenched his fingers and laced them with the ranger's squeezing the man's hand as things cleared up and then hot shame flooded his cheeks, turning them crimson.

Looking at Aragorn with wide blue eyes and a pasty face that was darkened only by bruises and dried blood, the Elf whispered, "My home is in danger…I saw my father…I saw him…die…" He didn't expect Aragorn to understand, but he spilled his soul out to the human anyway.

Aragorn held his breath and then asked placatingly, "Care to talk about it? It might help." The man's voice was slightly hoarse and he watched sympathetically as Legolas looked away, out towards the cave entrance. The rain had completely stopped the sweet fragrance of wet, fresh grass was rolling in and filling Legolas' senses. The Elf inhaled a deep, shuddering breath.

"No… and yes," his voice had dropped to being almost inaudible.

"Well, we don't have to talk about it now, you can wait until later after dawn if that helps. I just don't want you scaring me like that again. I didn't know if you were in pain or… or what was going on. You wouldn't answer. You frightened me." Aragorn's voice had dropped to a low murmur as he admitted how uncertain and afraid he had been for a few minutes where his friend wouldn't answer he call.

"Then I am sorry," Legolas answered softly, looking back over at his friend. "But… I will not speak of my dream. Not yet." He closed his eyes to block out the threatening cave ceiling and the men carpeting the floor as they slept. Leaning his head, he carefully rested it against his bound arm and his breathing began to even out as his exhaustion took over.

Aragorn noticed that the prince still held his hand. "It was only a dream, Legolas," he whispered reassuringly into his friend's ear. He had to admit he was afraid of what changes he would have to face if and when he returned home. He didn't even know if he would be accepted anymore and privately, that was his greatest fear -rejection by those he left behind. He knew his brothers would take him back and his father…but the rest of the Elves he couldn't be too sure of.

"Yes," the Elf smiled weakly. "It was only a dream." That said, the Elf shifted to a new and more comfortable position before drifting back into an easier sleep. He could feel Aragorn's comforting presence right beside him and even if he knew that he wasn't safe and that their situation hadn't changed, his fear had temporarily melted away.

The fifteen-year-old boy cautiously watched the two, picking up the torch. He was poised to start hobbling back towards his self-assigned corner, but his face was hesitant. Aragorn looked at him through the torch light and asked quietly, "What is it that you want?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but then only gapped, gauging his thoughts. A few seconds later he asked in an innocent and curious voice, "What does '_mellon nîn_' mean?" He had never heard Elvish before and even these two words that he didn't understand were comforting somehow. He wanted to know what they meant.

Aragorn smiled. "It means 'my friend'." He felt Legolas hand go limp in his own as he relaxed. Aragorn retained his grip on the prince's hand, stroking it with his thumb, lulling Legolas into a deeper sleep. A reflexive smile pulled the corners of Legolas' mouth up as he subconsciously seemed to be in the conversation.

The boy nodded and then smiled broadly, the first true smile Aragorn had seen him give. "I like that."

Aragorn conceded as he held the boy's gaze. "Me too." Smile fading as his wounds caught up and he understood the risks the youth was running, the ranger advised kindly, "Now hurry off before you are caught." Even if the boy wasn't caught, he didn't want to get Legolas or himself into further trouble.

The boy nodded his head in as he conceded to Aragorn's warning. Hobbling away as quietly but as quickly as possible, he reached his forsaken little corner and sat down. However, his eyes never left the two prisoners and he watched as Aragorn's eyes became heavy almost instantly and the ranger drifted into sleep still holding Legolas' hand limply in his own.

:0Ї0:

It seemed like the rest of the early dawn that they had been allowed to sleep through, had passed in the blink of an eye. Legolas woke up first, blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust to the white light scorching the inside of the cave from its mouth. He started to lift his head but immediately halted the movement when he realized that his head was throbbing and that jaw hurt badly from the blows he had received the day before. His whole body felt stiff and unresponsive.

The Elf compressed his hands and froze as he felt Aragorn's hand folded inside his own. He hoped that he had not inadvertently woken the ranger up. He knew the human desperately needed his rest in order to recuperate properly. But his hope for Aragorn's rest was shattered as the human stirred, having felt Legolas squeeze his hand and thinking that the Elf was going through another nightmare.

Opening his eyes, he pulled the room into focus and stared at the prince blearily. "Are you all right?" he inquired in a drowsy voice, realizing it was morning and that even though Legolas was wide awake he was deeply troubled.

"As well as is to be expected," the Elf responded quietly, his broken lips causing some impediments in how he spoke. It was obvious that he needed water and his need could turn dire very soon. Continuing as he ignored his difficulties, Legolas shook his head. "You need rest, _mellon nîn_."

The hoarseness of Legolas' normally smooth voice disturbed the ranger and he shifted in his cords, wincing as they scraped against the raw flesh of his wrists. If these went untreated, or any of his other wounds for that matter, he was running a serious risk of infection. "I am rested," he lied effortlessly to the Elf, who looked at him, raising a brow incredulously.

"Human, you can recover no faster than I can…and I am still exhausted," he admitted just to prove his point. The Elf smiled just to let Aragorn know that the term 'human' had been used merely in a jest since he realized his tone might have sounded a bit grumpy. The assuring gesture broke the laceration on his lip again and it started bleeding. The Elf licked the blood back subconsciously.

Aragorn smiled back, despite their circumstances. "Guess we are in the same boat." He turned his head for a moment, observing the men stirring around the camp. They had obviously been up for a while and thankfully, Ceorl was no where to be seen.

Legolas lifted his head and nodded, ignoring his inflexible and sore muscles' protests. "Again." His voice sounded depressed and Aragorn couldn't blame him.

While Aragorn observed the camp, Legolas took the opportunity to observe the ranger's wounds, which were extensive. He couldn't see the human's back, of course, but he just knew that it was inflamed –much the same as his own if not worse. However, he could easily see the accumulated bruises that mottled the man's rib cage and chest area, as well as on his back. The kicking had been relentless and Legolas knew that a few ribs were at the least cracked.

Aragorn was trembling, probably with cold, because the chilling damp air that they were exposed to was even getting to Legolas to some degree. The drain of torment, stress and ultimately lack of vigour had undermined his normally resistant endurance. The prince scowled and pointed out, "You are shivering."

"I am not," the man turned his head to face the Elf. Now that he saw him in the morning light, he realized how terrible Legolas actually looked. Bruises covered his torso, chest and face as did blood and abrasions. His eyes were accented with dark ringlets. A whip-like mark raced across his proud cheek bone, one that Aragorn couldn't identify and he knew came from no lash that the men possessed –it was too thin. However, he would question the Elf later…

"Yes," Legolas argued, "you are."

Aragorn was about to protest but a violent shudder ran through him as his body tried to block out the cold and warm up. It belied anything he might say and he just frowned, shifted closer to the warmth of the Elf. "Maybe I am," he conceded quietly and Legolas just gave him the infamous I-told-you-so,-didn't-I? expression.

Everything was silent except for the grumbling sounds of a lively camp that consisted of rather grumpy and sleep-deprived soldiers. Legolas and Aragorn sat listening and observing for a few moments, thinking about what had transpired so far and about what could very easily happen. "Ah, Elbereth," Aragorn finally breathed, then sighed and slamming his head back against the stone wall.

Legolas looked at him curiously, not understanding the man's actions.

Aragorn closed his eyes, swallowing hard as his head remained against the stone. "My brothers and Roth," he answered Legolas' unspoken question in a groan. Grimacing, he looked at the Elf sitting calmly beside him but Legolas left no room for explanation.

"You met your brothers and Roth? When? Where? How?" This was news to the Elf and welcome news at that. His voice rose a little more than he had intended towards the end and Aragorn hushed him with a pleading look on his face that was nearly comical. But Legolas' excitement was understandable. After all, the prince had not seen any of the three Elves in close to four years.

Legolas' surprised and almost joyous expression melted into one of concern and fear as he looked at the hinting sorrow that clouded Aragorn's face. He could tell by the guilty look flushing the ranger's face that something had happened that was not meant to…something Aragorn had taken the blame for without question. "Estel-"

The human refused to meet his eyes. "Legolas, I don't even know if they are alive," he admitted the sickening knowledge to the Elf. "The assassin was after me...they interfered…they were shot."

Legolas' anger flared inwardly, and the bruises on his face suddenly felt all too new and hot as he remembered Deor. That filthy, clever but cruel excuse for a man…Legolas would have paid in gold to choke him and double for Mandos to send him back so that he could choke him again. He remembered Ceorl emotionlessly noting Deor's absence and stating his belief about how it had come about. The three Elves he had always thought of as being the twins and Roth, but now he had no doubts.

"And what happened to the man who shot them?" Legolas asked in a bitter voice. Aragorn felt his friend's anger and satisfaction. Looking at the Elf curiously, he cleared his throat of the lump of sorrow that was accumulating in its depths before he provided an answer.

"Roth shot him."

Legolas' eyes looked quizzical. "I thought you said he was shot…"

"He is too much like you _mellon nîn_," Aragorn offered, hoping that would be enough and that he wouldn't have to go into details about their assault. He could still see Elladan stumbling forward and falling onto him, and his scarlet blood blossoming on his tunic, the arrow protruding through the front from the back.

Legolas didn't say anything; he just stared at the stone and dirt floor, shifting the dirt into little mountain ranges with his feet. "Did he make it?" the prince asked softly, his demeanour turning reclusive as he pulled into himself. Rothinzil should have never had to come out to look for him. He should still be safe at home.

Aragorn wished he could promise Legolas that Rothinzil was all right and only nursing his injury. He wished he could assure himself of Elladan and Elrohir's fates, but he could not. Not wanting to give Legolas a false hope but wanting to console his friend his answered, "When last I saw him, he was still alive."

Legolas might have wanted to hear more about his old friend that was like a brother to him but he didn't ask, rather merely nodded in understanding. "And your brothers?"

Aragorn pulled into himself, not wanting to be this open with the Elf-prince right now. "I don't know. Elladan…he wasn't moving when I left…I-I. I don't want to talk about it."

"Just like I didn't want to talk about my dream," Legolas compared pointedly, waiting for Aragorn's response that was expected to be defensive.

The ranger didn't utter a word at first, only nodded his head slightly. "Almost." _Mine was real! I saw it! I felt my brother's hot blood; I saw their faces screwed up in pain. I watched consciousness leave my childhood hero. _

The conversation might have gone further but a commotion at the edge of the cave mouth disrupted the reminiscing discussion of the friends. Ceorl had stormed in, looking very grumpy and dragged his son by the tunic front behind him. The boy was hobbling to keep up and faltered several times as his father's pace was far faster than what his crippled limb could manage. The older man didn't care.

Legolas scowled. If he didn't think it would make things worse and that Aragorn and the youth would pay the price for his actions Legolas might have reprimanded the abusive handling of the boy. Clenching his fists above his head into tight balls, he watched the youth finally trip up beyond recovery and one of his knees clash sharply with the stone floor. The fifteen-year-old bit his lip to keep from crying out and hurriedly apologized for what was by no means his fault.

"Stop your palavering and get those two fed now!" he glared in Legolas and Aragorn's direction, not even hearing his son's slurred apologies. Seeing Legolas glaring coldly at him and regaining some of his defiance, the leader cautioned in a softer voice, "Now, now Elf. You mind your own business and keep your mouth shut. Otherwise," he inclined his head towards Aragorn and smiled in a way that was anyway but kind, "he will taste some more of last night."

Legolas was too stubborn avert his gaze but he kept his tempter under control and didn't dare to say one wise comment to his captor, even though he had already come up with several that were probably fitting. Ceorl stared at him with a smirk on his face. "Like a good boy," he teased the prince, before he turned his back on the prisoners and walked out of the cave to attend to other business.

The boy fumbled around, gathering dishes in which he could pour some corn-mush, and now that his father was gone, he visibly relaxed. When the older human wasn't around the boy seemed to get along fine with his impediment. Unfortunately, that was not when he counted.

The last men in the cave walked out and it was only Legolas, Aragorn and the youth.

The fifteen-year-old hobbled out again and returned shortly, balancing two bowls of steaming, but meagre, portions of porridge. A water-skin was hanging from a strap that had been slung over one shoulder.

Making his way carefully over to the Elf and ranger so as not to spill, he set it down carefully on the ground. Breathing hard from the exertion it took to fulfil this task with a twisted leg that threw off every shred of balance he possessed, the boy waited a minute before stepping towards Aragorn. "I am to loose you of your bonds and then you can feed your friend." He already knew that Aragorn wouldn't run because he wouldn't leave Legolas alone even though the Elf had already begged him to twice.

Legolas looked indignant at the notion of being spoon fed by even Aragorn and watched as the cruelly tight ropes binding Aragorn's wrists were severed. They almost had to be peeled away from the man's chaffed skin and Aragorn held his breath as blood flow, which had long been denied to his hands, surged back and caused no small amount of pain. It was obvious that his wrists were bruised, even if they were not nearly as damaged as Legolas' were by the metal cuffs.

Legolas flexed his fingers, alarmed at how they had lost sensation. He licked his dried mouth in longing of even temporary freedom. His arms ached relentlessly and his wrists were sore and smarting where the cuffs had managed to bite through his first layer of skin. Even as Aragorn felt his sense of feeling coming back to his own hands, he knew Legolas' discomfort and had not forgotten it simply because he was not experiencing it in fullness anymore.

"Can he not be loosened? He would not run, I promise," Aragorn plead on his friend's behalf, crawling over to grab a bowl and spoon before shuffling on his knees to sit close to the Elf. He intended to feed Legolas first, and look after himself later. "Please?" he asked once more when he didn't receive an answer the first time.

The boy shook his head reluctantly, hating himself for his cowardice but unable to help it. "I am sorry. He is…his kind is fast…I could get into real trouble." His explanation was understandable but it still frustrated the ranger that Legolas was reduced to this. The proud Elf would never accept being spoon fed in the presence of his captors and would readily starve first. However, Aragorn didn't want to argue more and waste time.

Looking up at Legolas' and realizing that the prince's thirst would be far greater than his hunger, Aragorn reached for the water-skin, which the boy quickly handed to him, trying to be helpful. Legolas unintentionally licked his dried, cracked lips in helpless anticipation of the welcome moisture.

Putting the rim of the opened water-skin's mouth against Legolas' lips, Aragorn tipped it, only allowing Legolas to have a sip at first. The last thing he needed was Legolas to get his stomach upset because he had forced down too much cold water too fast. Apparently the prince didn't agree because he glared as the water was temporarily revoked. "If you promise not to force down too much or too fast," Aragorn said as he prepared to offer Legolas more water.

The Elf glared expectantly until Aragorn pressed the water-skin to his lips again and then he drank greedily, careful not to let his rapid swallowing qualify as too fast. It felt good, the cold water sliding down his parched and hoarse throat. It had been tantalizing listening to the rain falling and being so thirsty, even though he had not recognized his thirst at first. His mouth didn't hurt so much anymore.

Suddenly some of the welcome liquid glided down the wrong pipe, blocking his wind and the Elf sputtered, water dribbling down his chin as he coughed and curled in on himself as far as his bonds would allow. Alarmed, Aragorn handed the water-skin off to the boy, who was watching without comment.

Pushing gently against Legolas' shoulders, he steadied the prince and then smiled wryly as Legolas' coughs subsided, resumed and then left for good. "You drank too fast. I warned you."

Legolas shook his head in protest. "I did no such thing. My throat is just not used to the moisture." Aragorn shook his head as well but didn't argue.

"Care for anymore?" he asked as Legolas licked his lips again, feeling refreshed and enjoying the lingering taste of the clear, clean water.

The Elf frowned. "What about you?" He knew how selfless Aragorn was, and he knew that the man's limits did not reach as far as his own. If anyone needed to take advantage of this, it was Aragorn.

The ranger shook his head. "You first. I am sure we can get more after," he looked back at the boy, who nodded in agreement.

"There is a spring close by."

Aragorn turned back to the reluctant Elf and smiled encouragingly. "See? Drink." He recovered the water-skin from the youth behind him and pressed it against Legolas' compressed lips. When the Elf still seemed hesitant, Aragorn pressed it closer and glowered, "I know you are still thirsty. This might be your last drink in a while."

Legolas accepted the water-flask without further resistance, taking in more water, surprised when he felt his spirits rise ever so little. Finally, when he had drunk his fill, Aragorn relented and removed the flask from the Elf's lips.

Reaching for the bowl of slightly cooled porridge, he held it in one hand and the spoon in the other.

Anger swirled into Legolas' eyes as the thought of further humiliation crossed his mind. It was bad enough he couldn't drink by himself and the water had dribbled down his chin like a baby being nursed, but being fed corn-mush from a spoon was asking too much. If he had been hungry earlier, he had lost his appetite now. "No," he refused flatly.

Aragorn had expected such a response, knowing Legolas was not one to suffer humiliation unless there were simply no other alternatives…like starving to death. It was stupid, but the Elf considered starvation to be a better option than shame even though there was nothing for him to be ashamed about.

Sensing Legolas' mood, the boy shuffled out, taking the emptied water-skin with him to be refilled.

Legolas watched him go but still was just as stubborn even after the boy was gone. A soldier of Ceorl's could walk in and see him accepting food from a spoon and he would never live it down. Aragorn collected a spoonful and offered it to the Elf, placing it against Legolas' mouth.

Legolas twisted his face away, snubbing the proffered food. Aragorn sighed, pulling back. "Legolas, you have to eat _something_."

"No," the prince corrected, keeping his mouth out of range of Aragorn's hands. "I don't."

"Sure you do," Aragorn coaxed, readying the spoon again for when Legolas would turn his face around.

"No. I don't," he argued vehemently, glaring at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye. "I am not hungry."

Aragorn knew that arguing this much with Legolas would only make the Elf more stubborn and resistant. He shrugged and sat down seemingly uncaringly. He was hungry and he knew that their next chance of getting food was unknown. He could convince the Elf to drink but forcing the prince to spoon feed was beyond his expertise. Taking a bite, he looked at Legolas with a thoughtful expression. "It's not bad. Makes me wonder why they gave it to _us_."

Legolas watched Aragorn swallow his first mouthful and continue with another. He had to admit, it was tempting but he couldn't bring himself to stoop that low. His stomach gave a low growl and it wasn't lost on Aragorn, who stopped eating his breakfast and stared demandingly at the Elf.

Teasing aside, Aragorn promised, "No one will ever hear of this. The boy isn't back yet and the men are busy. Just eat a few bites, _mellon nîn_. I will never mention it again."

"Yeah, right. Could I get a copy of that in writing?" Legolas answered with a small chuckle, grimacing as his aching arms started to throb.

"No. Well, maybe when we are out of this mess," Aragorn brushed the jest aside, having a feeling that he had a limited amount of time before his bonds were replaced and he was secured again. Selecting the bowl and spoon that he had not touched, Aragorn offered another spoonful to the prince, who grudgingly accepted it.

Aragorn smiled, trying not to chuckle at the expression written across the proud creature's face. Legolas scowled as he swallowed, nearly choking. "Chew your food," Aragorn reprimanded jestingly.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "You sound like my mother." He didn't mind accepting food from Aragorn's hand too much, he decided reluctantly, as long as no one witnessed it and the ranger kept his mouth shut. He accepted another bite presented by the man and the human chuckled as some of the broth-like liquid slid down the prince's chin.

The Elf swallowed quickly and reached his tongue out to lick around his mouth, a grin pulling at his lips against his will. He simply couldn't help it even though he knew he should find nothing funny about all of this. His father would be thoroughly embarrassed for him. It was a few moments before he could accept another spoonful and it was challenge to swallow it before he nearly gagged in soft laughter.

Soon, the whole bowl was almost gone and the two were acting almost as though they weren't really miserable.

Just then, their momentary joy was broken when the boy hobbled back in, carrying the water-skin, freshly filled. Aragorn, not wanting to shame the Elf, stopped feeding him and set the bowl and spoon aside. Legolas feigned disinterest.

If the boy had picked up on what was going on he certainly didn't show it, which was a smart thing. He handed the water-flask off to Aragorn, knowing that it was the ranger's turn to drink his fill before they had to leave. The boy scowled, not looking forward to moving out as he never did. It only caused him more heartache because he was not as strong in body as the others and it took a strong toll on his health from time to time with no help from his emotionally calloused father.

Turning his back on the two prisoners, he watched through narrowed eyes as men filed into the cave, gathering the last remnants of the unpacked supplies before bustling out again to saddle their horses. Catching sight of his father giving orders to someone and walking past him as though he was nonexistent, the boy listened intently.

However, his father must have seen what he was doing or already intended to speak with him, because he grabbed the boy's arm in a tight grip, his fingers leaving bruises. "I want you and a few others to ride out to where the orcs are posted. Tell them they are to carry out their plans and get those horses." The boy could do nothing but nod in fear.

Ceorl gave one last demand as he shoved his son back a step, watching in distaste as the boy nearly fell. "And if you can't find them and fail me, don't you dare come back. I will kill you, understand?"

The boy grimaced and stammered, "Yes, father."

Ceorl smacked him sharply across the face, whipping the youth's head to the side and drawing blood. "Don't call me that, boy!" He had long ago disowned the child and he was sick of little slips in being addressed, such as this one. He was not the boy's father. The boy was a mistake, he never should have happened and he wasn't wanted. He was a no one.

"I'm sorry, _master_," the youth answered in a trembling voice, back peddling for fear of another blow. He knew his father was trying to get rid of him, he knew this was a mission that he wasn't meant to survive. That thought stung a lot. He knew that he was freak, that he was failure, that he was a mistake…he just had never thought that he was meant to die.

Fighting back choking tears he flinched and withdrew as his father drew closer. "And if you fail or try to get help I will know, and your little friends that you made, they will die. Forget the money I will get for the Elf; I will kill him if you go for help, understand? And you know how slow I can drag out someone's death, don't you?"

The boy desperately tried to feign confusion for Legolas' sake but his father already had everything figured out and he wasn't going to stand for this brat's lying. "Why would I be friends with-"

"But you are, aren't you?" Ceorl accused spitefully, going over to Legolas, kicking Aragorn out of his way and pulling on one of Legolas' ears in a way that made the Elf wince. "Because he's a freak, just like you! Because you think he understands you! Because he and this ranger are kind to you!"

The boy couldn't argue; he was too hurt and feeling too alone. His chin trembled and he stepped backward, preparing to rush out of the cave. But Ceorl hadn't released him yet and the man snapped, "Did I say that you could go, brat?"

Standing still and lowering his eyes, the boy whispered, "No, master." There were painful tears burning in his eyes and crimson flooded his cheeks with shame, making them burn.

"You may go now," he said with a sneer. "Remember this, even if you succeed and return, you will never fit in with us. You were born different and a freak and that is how you will stay!" he spat at the youth as the boy shuffled out of the room, tears streaming down his face unchecked.

Legolas had watched the exchange in hot fury, pulling free of the man's grip on his ear and glaring up at him with flinty eyes of ice. His defiance had been robbed of him earlier but seeing the maltreatment of the boy who was biologically this man's son rekindled something deep inside of him. Something that refused to listen to reason or threats…something that refused to be silenced.

"You are sick!" he spat at the blonde man, throwing caution into the wind. He knew what rejection was, and he knew what it was like to have an argument with his father, but Thranduil had never outright hated him and he never would. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be hated by those who were part of you, whose blood ran inside you and in whose company you should feel safe.

"Watch your mouth Legolas, lest your ranger friend should suffer the consequences of your actions," Ceorl warned coldly, boring his eyes into Legolas'. "I would hate to see him suffer more, wouldn't you agree? Since this would be your second offence I would say his punishment should be upped a degree."

Legolas' jaw tightened and he compressed his mouth into a thin white line as he knew he must control himself for Aragorn's sake. "Before this is all over," he warned in a cold, hateful tone, "I am going to kill you."

Ceorl didn't laugh, he didn't move. He just stared at Legolas for a moment, as though wondering if the Elf's promise could possibly come true. Not wanting the prisoners to see his doubt, he looked at Aragorn, who was still free of his bonds. Throwing all his anger and hate into one motion, he slammed his boot into Aragorn's stomach, doubling the man over and making him gasp sharply.

Legolas threw himself against his bonds; ignoring the pain it caused to his inflamed wrists. He withheld a cry as he knew the pain that Aragorn was feeling and understood that the kick was strong enough to do damage internally. His hands clenched into fists above his head and the knuckles went white.

Ceorl stared at Legolas and smiled at the Elf's distress. Giving Aragorn a harder kick in the side, and sending the man sprawled onto his side, Ceorl laughed scornfully at Legolas. "Break your chains and stop me Elf. Free yourself and come between me and him, put yourself in his place, and I will stop."

He knew Legolas' desire and he could see the pain reflected in the unmasked eyes. The colour that had barely come back into Legolas' face had vanished again and his eyes were large. The bruises and dark rings about the prince's eyes accented his eyes, making them even more potent. "Or are you not strong enough, princeling? What kind of kingdom is ruled by someone so weak?"

The words bit Legolas deeper than he would ever admit to anyone, even to himself. He knew deep inside that he wasn't weak, but somehow, he couldn't believe that now. He own father had called him irresponsible…but that seemed like millennia ago. It was his last memory of home…

Ceorl kicked Aragorn again, drawing a cry of pain from the ranger, who curled in tighter on himself, unable to stop himself for crying out under the abuse. He wished to the Valar he could be stronger for Legolas but he couldn't. Gasping, he realized that he couldn't breathe either and that his attempts to protect himself against the raining blows were growing weaker and weaker. It felt as thought his diaphragm had been smashed and panic was beginning to choke off what was left his breathing capabilities.

Legolas watched wide-eyed, silent tears pricking under his eyes as he witnessed his friend's abuse. The Elf's fair face was screwed up in emotional pain and he wanted to rush forward and throw himself over Aragorn but his unbreakable bonds held him back against the cold stone of the wall. His breathing accelerated; he wasn't going to let his pride interfere with his friend's well being. Yes, he was weak, but Aragorn shouldn't have to pay for it. "Please, please stop. I am –am begging you, Ceorl, please!" The desperate tone and the edge of helplessness made the man cease Aragorn's beating and stare at Legolas in disbelief.

"Say that again, Legolas, louder, so everyone can hear it." Gesturing to the men that had returned into the cave to see what the commotion was, the blonde human invited, "Come, Legolas has something to say." Looking at Legolas and talking in a low, deliberate voice, he demanded, "say it."

Aragorn cried out as another kick smashed against his already abused and battered diaphragm, nearly making him throw up. Legolas watched his friend shudder helplessly as he struggled to pull enough oxygen into his body.

"Please! Please stop!" he almost yelled, loud enough that all could hear it.

Ceorl prepared to kick Aragorn again, watching Legolas. "That isn't the part I wanted to hear. Let's hear it all, Legolas. Every. Little. Word. Am I clear?" He questioned, wondering if maybe he needed to find a new tactic to use on his victim. Aragorn lay on the ground, struggling to breathe.

Legolas swallowed down his pride almost visibly, putting thoughts of him aside. "I am begging you! Please stop! _Please_!" His eyes spoke more than his words or his voice could have ever conveyed and Ceorl smiled, hooking his boot toe under the ranger and rolling Aragorn over.

"Well since you asked so nicely. How can I refuse the prince of Mirkwood?" he scorned the Elf, spitting in his face. Cupping Legolas' chin as the Elf recoiled from the glob of flying saliva, he squeezed Legolas' chin tightly. "Like a good little Elf." His words burned Legolas' stubborn heart and the prince refused to meet his eyes.

Producing a length of rope from his pocket after he fished around a bit, he threw it into the arms of a man standing closest to him. "Bind Thorongil and then unchain the Elf. Use rope and bind him but make sure the knots are secure and _tight_." Releasing Legolas' chin, he patted his head as though he was a dog and then turned and stalked away.

The man who had been tossed the rope looked white as he clumsily made his way towards the prone ranger. He was well aware of the gravity of the situation should the prisoners, either or them, escape.

He didn't need to subdue Aragorn anymore than he already had, but of course, he wasn't going to take any risks. Kicking Aragorn one more time in the ribs for good measure, the man pulled the other groaning man's hands together and began wrapping the rough hemp around the torn skin of his wrists. Making sure it was good and tight, he seemed satisfied after a series of painful tugs and he shoved Aragorn coldly aside.

He went to Legolas and then realized that his leader had failed to give him the keys. Not being able to unlock the prince's manacles without the keys, he hurried out to catch Ceorl and amend this mistake before trouble came of it. He was expecting some trouble anyway, even though it wasn't his fault.

Legolas and Aragorn were left to themselves for a short while since all the men had left a little earlier, seeing no reason to stay with the end of the spectacle at hand.

Legolas was the first to break the silence with a soft sob. "I'm sorry, so sorry, Estel."

Aragorn lifted his head slightly from where it lay in the dirt, fluttering his eyes open as he was still recovering from his painful ordeal that had left him winded. "For what?" He didn't understand… none of this was Legolas' fault… he had stopped it anyway. In his eyes, Legolas was innocent and had nothing to be sorry for.

The prince shook his head and whispered back in a choked voice as he withheld his shameful, shuddering sobs, "For you paying the prince for my weakness." His voice was so low Aragorn could barely hear him and he blinked in disbelief.

"Your weakness?" What had happened to the defiant Elf with the icy eyes? What had happened to his friend that could face anything with his headstrong mind? The man's voice was a whisper as he couldn't believe what he was hearing and was barely capable of breathing anyway. "Legolas…I haven't paid for your weakness…I have paid for your strength…"

Legolas shook his head. "No. I am weak. I got captured. I forced you here where you have been subjected to torment because I can't free myself." The Elf's bitter lament made Aragorn flinch inside and he wriggled closer, crawling through the stony, dusty ground so that he was able to hear any whisper the Elf made.

"I am the one who is weak," Aragorn murmured to his friend, causing Legolas to give him a hard stare. "I failed to get you out and I have failed to protect you when you needed me." Aragorn smiled grimly and gave a snort as his bruised diaphragm wouldn't allow a chuckle. "And you didn't force me anywhere. I came here because I wanted to."

Legolas knew this was true, but it hurt to think about anyone sacrificing that much for him.

Aragorn seemed to be aware of Legolas' feelings and he turned completely solemn. "It's no more than what you did for me in Harad. You didn't have to come for me." He hadn't forgotten the screams of the Elf, being tortured because he had dared to come for him and become embroiled in the whole mess and asked nothing in return. The prince had even been deaf at the time. He hadn't forgotten how mangled Legolas had been and the painful healing process that wasn't even through yet.

Soon enough the man assigned to prepare them for travel returned bearing the expression a bear cub might have after a harsh reprimand by his mother. In his hand was clenched the rusty key and Legolas couldn't help but sit up straight in the anticipation of the flow of blood that return to his hands and fingers. He wasn't expecting it to be painless but at the same time he was expecting it to be relieving.

Aragorn's faith in him had made him feel slightly better and as the traitor coming to free him from the wall kicked the ranger out of the way, Legolas growled in a dangerous undertone, "You had better not do that again." His voice may not have recovered all of its potency but it still had a surprising amount of effect.

The assaulting human stopped and stared at Legolas with an expression akin to laughter but when he saw the protectiveness and honestly that filled the prince's already flinty eyes his jovial look faded. He couldn't help it. The prisoner that he thought had moments ago been begging had just commanded something of him and the strange thing was that he found himself heeding the Elf's demand.

Legolas was sure that this had something to do with the fact that the man had to actually unlock him from the restraints that were the only things keeping them separated. Even if he was hurting badly and his heart felt broken by the situation he couldn't help but appreciate this particular circumstance.

The man edged his way closer to Legolas, watching the prince as though he might break the manacles and bite his head off. This was highly unlikely, because there were a few times already when Legolas had genuinely wanted to do something along those very lines.

Aragorn was now on his knees, watching as his friend was about to be released of the wicked iron that had almost shredded the first layer of skin around his wrists. The prince was watching the man with the key intently as he jabbed it into the lock mechanism and gave it a few odd, harsh twists. There was the grating sound of metal on metal and then the apparatus released, allowing the irons to fall from Legolas' aching wrists.

The man then moved to place the bonds on Legolas, but stumbling up and reaching the prince's side, Aragorn interfered. "He needs the circulation returned," the ranger explained, shoving the other man aside without a second thought. True, his own hands were bound but he could still use them to some extent.

The man must have seen the sense in the suggestion, because he didn't retaliate and he didn't impede. However, he kept a close watch and his hand never left his sword hilt. Anger kindled behind his eyes.

Taking one of Legolas' cold numb hands, Aragorn tenderly but firmly began to rub it, taking note of how the prince bit his lip as the portion of his body long denied blood eagerly accepted the liquid again. He knew the painful rush of sensation the Elf was experiencing and quickly moved to the other hand, trying to ease it as quickly as possible.

The circulation quickly returned and no lasting damage had been done the Elf's newly healed fingers, at least not that Aragorn could see. He had Legolas open and close them several times before he was satisfied.

The traitor finally grew impatient as the sounds of people mounting horses could be heard and he moved to bind the Elf. Legolas' muscles tightened and he resisted the urge to pull his throbbing hands away. It wouldn't do any good and would make him seem weaker than he must already.

Just then, Ceorl, in his perfect timing, strolled in, obviously wondering what the hold-up was and his face was scrunched up in wrath. His eyes lighted on the Elf, who was in the process of having the rough rope twisted about his wrists and pulled taut. The pain was plain on the fair creature's face as the man binding him gave the bonds one experimental tug to make sure that they were properly in place. Satisfied, he grabbed Legolas by his arm and yanked him to his feet, shoving him back a few steps so he nearly banged into Aragorn who had stood up on his own.

"What took you so long? My orders were concise and should not have taken this long…nearly twenty minutes to be exact," he added as he glared at all three before him.

The man placed in charge of Legolas and Aragorn seemed fidgety and he mumbled a hasty apology, hoping to merely get by with a scolding. "I had to get the key from you, sir," he tried to justify the copious amount of time.

Ceorl was gracious enough to consent to that, but to make up for his graciousness, he snapped, "Get them out there this minute!" The idiot had been far too gentle with the prisoners, but there was no time for harsher reprimands. It wasn't his fault the other human was a total idiot, he decided as he turned his back on them and stalked out.

Legolas and Aragorn were roughly prodded out, with a series of cuffs and curses as they went, most of them breaking over Legolas who was primarily blamed for the trouble.

Once out, Legolas winced as he saw there were no extra horses, they were expected to walk and most likely run. He couldn't help but feel sick and he was glad that Aragorn had demanded that he eat their meagre breakfast, but he wished the human had ingested some of his portion. He didn't need it all, after all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Ceorl approach, more rope in hand and he resisted the urge to panic as he thought of more bonds being placed on him, meant to make him helpless and run for his life. It was like being a puppet on a series of cruel and punishing strings.

Aragorn had not yet seen the additional ropes but he had seen Legolas tensing at his side and had wondered immediately what had alarmed his friend so. Twisting his head in the direction of the prince's gaze he grimaced at the sight of Ceorl's burden and closed his eyes, just imagining Legolas' reaction and trying to control his own.

The Elf subconsciously retreated closer to Aragorn as he recognized the all too familiar form of a rope noose meant to be used as a dangerous leash. Old memories of Farlost soared into his mind, as well as Harad. Understanding and appreciating Legolas' emotions about this, Aragorn compassionately touched the Elf's back with his bound hands as a reassuring gesture. Even if it didn't insight memories of pain and hopelessness as it was, it still damaged the prince's pride.

Ceorl grabbed Legolas by his chin, as he had been fond of doing recently, and pulled him forward away from Aragorn. Taking the noose, he slipped it over the Elf's head and cinched it partially tight, making the Elf flinch as he felt it enclose loosely around his throat. The prince stared at the rope as though he was glaring down a venomous snake but the fear could not be mistaken in his eyes.

"You and Thorongil are going to run beside us. Our pace will be reasonable, you need time to recover before you are handed over to Sharky and there are ways of avoiding patrols if we travel through the more mountainous part of the country." He proceeded with the rope attached to the bonds on Legolas' wrists, lengthening it so that it could be wrapped around the horn of a saddle along with the end of the hated leash. Legolas found it ironic that they expected them to recover while struggling to keep up with the pace set by a horse but there was nothing he could do about it.

Any stumble or overly zealous reproof could easily result in the prisoner's death. Knowing this didn't comfort Legolas and he turned his face away, unable to watch as Aragorn received the same treatment.

As he avoided seeing the rough handling of his friend, the Elf noticed the boy out of the corner of his mind. He had finally come up with a name for the child in his mind, though he knew that the human youth would never accept it: _Voronwë_, the name of his murdered cousin. It meant "faithful" in Quenya. The child looked strangely at ease with what he was about to venture into, even though Legolas could read the terror and pain in his eyes.

Narrowing his eyes as he took a closer look at the boy, he noticed that he didn't ride with a saddle, which made perfect sense considered that it would hamper his twisted foot. He must have an excellent sense of balance to be able to counter for the awkward way his foot would spread his weight across the animal's bare back. Frowning, Legolas watched as the child spurred the animal and steered him towards the Eastfold, along the Gondorian and Rohirrim border, where the orcs were encamped.

:0Ї0:

They had reached the camp no more than ten minutes ago and the noon sun was just beginning to reach its peak in the sky, warming the earth and releasing the pleasant smell of the luscious grass. Roth inhaled deeply as he dismounted ahead of Elrohir so that the younger twin could deliver Elladan to him before lightly hopping down himself.

Collecting Elladan, who was still unconscious, Roth waited until Elrohir was free of the horse and had stretched his stiff muscles before yielding his brother back to him. Elladan's condition was relatively stable even though he had yet to wake up. There were still some things to be grateful for, the warrior supposed as he stared at the pasty and emotionless face of the elder twin.

Elrohir cradled his brother close to his chest, almost unwilling to let go. Roth stayed just behind the older Elf, not sure of what was about to happen and banking on the assumption that Elrohir knew how these humans worked. Sighing, he watched as the three that had been helpful enough to escort them, left them standing by a russet tent, obviously having a more important errand or fetching along a healer.

Unfortunately, Roth had the sinking feeling that they were being left alone and exchanging glances with Elrohir, he knew that the youngest of the twins felt the same.

Their sharp ears picked up the sound of people returning, walking towards them. Not that this would have been uncommon if the King of Rohan didn't make up one out of four of the company. Elrohir would have normally smiled in greeting but the circumstances and his physical as well as emotional pain prevented any such gesture. Roth just narrowed his eyes suspiciously behind Elrohir's back, knowing full well that since he was a hair shorter that the king and his companions would be unable to see it.

The king's face was grave and he didn't smile either, only extended a hand but pulled it back when he saw that Elrohir's arms were rather full. Roth didn't move forward and the Rohirric ruler didn't extend any greeting towards the Elven warrior.

Appraising the two mentally, the king could easily diagnose that they had been in some sort of fight. Clearing his throat, he skipped the formalities and cut straight to the matter at hand. "I will personally see that you receive the best medical attention that I have at my disposal here," he informed. "But in return I should like to know how this all happened, my lords."

Elrohir nodded his appreciation, feeling rather breathless and unexplainably tired. Roth still seemed a bit cold about the meeting but he didn't interfere and as a matter of fact, seemed to be trying to avoid a confrontation or a simple conversation altogether. His wound was paining him and his head was throbbing with a pulsing headache that just wouldn't quit.

Thengel turned to the three men and with a wave of his arm sent them off on some errand but attended personally to the directing of the three Elves to the Healing Tent placed near his own individual quarters. He had never met the twin Sons of Elrond himself, however his most trustworthy men only had good things to say about them and his father had told him of them when he was a boy sitting on the late king's knee. If so many others before him had placed faith in the pair of brothers and any they claimed friendship to, then he felt obligated to give them more than a fair chance himself.

The Healing Tent wasn't too far away, only a few yards and their walk was unaccompanied by any conversation. Roth hung on the other side of Elrohir, keeping the brothers between himself and the Rohirric ruler. He couldn't help his lingering distrust of men even through he knew it was foolish considering that he had married a mortal woman. But then again, he knew that she would never hurt him. When she went to Lake Town as she was wont to do in avoidance of the Elves from time to time, he could accompany her there because he had grown up there and knew vaguely what to expect. His adoptive parents had been mortals.

However places like Rohan completely threw him out of his comfort zone and left him feeling rigid and on guard so that rest became rare.

Sighing as everyone came to a halt before the tent flaps, he unnoticeably swallowed and prepared to enter the room, expecting to see wounded men lying in agony stretched out on mats soaked in blood…writhing… How could they keep Elladan in a place like this?

Feeling something in his throat, the Elf coughed a bit hard and then blinked as he quickly recovered. That had definitely not been normal for even a mortal Elf, but he hardly could pay attention to it now and blamed it on the wet, cold weather of the night.

Elrohir pushed threw the tent flaps and Roth tagged on his heels as the king turned and left, having other things to do and knowing that the Elves could take care of themselves. He had spoken with the healers and so they knew to give the Elves anything that they needed and what was available.

Elrohir didn't speak, and in fact, seemed like he had forgotten how. Seeing an empty and clean stretcher, he carried his brother to it and gently spread him on onto the soft material. Fresh, red blood was on his hands as he withdrew them from beneath the older twin and allowed Elladan's limp body to relax. Looking at his hands in disgust, Elrohir's face flushed slightly in fury as he remembered all that had happened. His own wound's intensity increased at the reminiscing and he had to use more will power than he liked to admit to get his pain under control.

Roth stood at his side and frowned down at Elladan. The elder twin was still unchanged and if Roth wasn't imagining things, he even had a small, trustful smile on his face. However, it seemed unlikely that this was possible considering that he was still unconscious and therefore, completely unaware. "How are we going to do this?" he asked his friend quietly.

Elrohir would have shrugged if not for his wound, which he didn't think would appreciate it. "I am not sure…I wish Lord Elrond was here." He hardly ever referred to him simply as '_Ada'_ in public, understanding that his father had an image to uphold. "We need to disinfect it, but that is going to be tricky…" Puncture wounds were very dangerous and he knew that this one would be no exception.

The Rohirrim healers looked at the Elves for a minute, expectantly, but realized soon that they were not needed and that their own skill might be passed up by Elrohir's expertise. Heeding the moans and groans of those already in their charge, the men put their attention to better use and left the Elves to their own business.

Elrohir stared at Elladan one minute longer before he decided that something had to be done and very, very soon. Quickly, his long fingers flew to unbutton what was left of Elladan's tunic where the arrow had ripped through. The fabric was a rusty scarlet and stiff in places where the blood had dried but a ruby spot was developing where fresh liquid was pulsing out. The jostling of the horse on the way there had aggravated the injury, causing it to start bleeding again.

Once Elladan's chest was exposed, Roth watched Elrohir tenderly pull the rudimentary bandages that had swathed his chest and back free, revealing the gruesome injury. Every time the older twin breathed more blood trickled out and Roth resisted the urge to turn his face away. Quieting the sickness in his stomach, he whispered, "Looks bad."

Elrohir only nodded, feeling too choked up to speak. Evidently entrusting Roth with Elladan's basic care, he went and sought a healer to direct him to the cash of meagre supplies.

To Roth, the time seemed to pass for an eternity. He wasn't a healer and didn't consider himself to be knowledgeable on even the basics of caring for cuts and abrasions let alone these sorts of wounds. He wished he had someone wiser around, but as he did not, he tried to remember all that his experiences with Legolas, Aragorn, and the twins had taught him… Valar knew he had seen these types of procedures often enough.

Elladan was still bleeding and the dark-haired warrior scowled as he knew that the blood had to be stopped and made to clot. Feeling like he wasn't a complete idiot after all, he grabbed one of the former bandages and applied it firmly against the wound with a pertinent amount of pressure, staunching it. His mind held a single task, keeping the blood at bay and he gradually applied a bit more pressure.

Just as he was beginning to feel in partial control of the situation, Elrohir returned, bearing bandages, a case of varieties of herbs, and some other rudimentary instruments. None of this compared to Rivendell or even Mirkwood's stores of supplies by far but they would have to work with what they had. By most standards they were lucky.

Starting his administrations, Elrohir quietly instructed Rothinzil as to what had to be done and his directions were carried out flawlessly despite the other Elf's shaking hands.

:0Ї0:

After a couple of gruelling hours all three Elves were successfully bandaged and on the road to recovery –even if the road was beset with bumps and ruts every few feet.

Elladan had returned to them and had returned to full consciousness but was now in a fitful sleep as the substitution mixture for Lord Elrond's legendary drugs was working to dull the pain. Elrohir hadn't been able to completely recreate the mixture and so he had to do what he could, which was precious little but evidently enough.

His own wound he had staunched and sterilized before he had bandaged it tightly and the pain was considerably less. He didn't give himself any pain drugs, unwilling to dull his reeling senses. Dark circles lined his eyes; accenting them and making his steely grey eyes seem even darker and more tired.

Roth was less cold towards the men now, realizing that without them Elladan might have very well lost his life, but he remained slightly suspicious. Elrohir had helped him sterilize, staunch and wrap his wound only after he had cut his way through a series of protests. The stubborn warrior was just as mule-headed as Legolas, but Elrohir couldn't figure out why he had ever expected less.

Fearing that it might be a bit hard for Elladan to relax and feel at ease in a Healing Tent, Elrohir had boldly but politely requested that he be moved somewhere else. This was understandable and King Thengel personally saw to it that the older twin was moved to quarters of his own and that the tent was sectioned off through the centre to accommodate the Elves. He had fully expected that Elrohir and Roth would stay with the direly injured immortal.

After Elladan was moved and all the lodging had its alterations accomplished as best as they could be, the king of Rohan humbly requested that Elrohir look at some of his wounded for which he was afraid nothing could be done for. Elrohir knew he was being taken advantage of, but in atonement for the aid of the ruler and his people, the younger twin obliged.

He was grieved to see the wounds of some of the men who had fallen at the bite of an orc blade. Most were poisoned, which explained why they wouldn't heal properly and kept breaking open and bleeding repeatedly as well as excessively. Unfortunately there were a few for which he could do nothing and was forced to explain such. This only served to make his hatred towards the accursed orcs even more bitter and burn with a fury that was almost consuming.

Finally, he and Roth had been taken into King Thengel's tent where they decided to have their arranged conversation about all that had transpired.

Elrohir sat by his brother, holding is wrist and keeping track of his pulse even as he spoke. However, his fingers trembled as he realized how close Elladan had come to death and how far he had been dangling over the brink.

Roth had to explain things every now and then since Elrohir would sometimes put all his concentration into making sure that all Elladan's vital signs remained stable. His own shoulder hurt where the blade of it had been nearly pierced and he just felt sore all over.

Thengel took a few minutes to assess all the information they had just sifted through and everything was ominously silent for a moment. His face was clouded and his eyes shut as he rested his forehead against his fist. He had feared this for a long time, he honestly had but, he had never thought it would result in this. Even if he knew halfway what was taking place, he still had no idea what the traitor's plans fully were. He had no idea where he should fortify, or where the band of traitors would strike next. Would it be innocent women and children? Burning and pillaging? The possibilities were endless and unfortunately they amount of time he had to successfully counter these men was not. He was grateful that his men had stumbled on these three Elves. Very grateful. They could all help each other.

"So you are sure that he was Rohirrim?" the king questioned one last time, hoping that maybe Elrohir was wrong and that it had been a pack of renegade Dunlanders. That was something he could deal with, relatively speaking. "What did he look like?"

"Dark haired, maybe –and tall, but you had better ask Roth about that, if it pleases you, my lord," Elrohir politely differed to his friend, sitting comfortably at his side.

Roth perked up at the mention of his name and immediately gave Elrohir and the King of Rohan his full attention. The dark-haired warrior had been preoccupied staring at the earthen floor of the tent, only vaguely aware of what was transpiring around him. They looked at him expectantly and he seemed puzzled for a second before he conceded wearily, "Yes, dark-haired. Although I can't say how tall for certain –close to my height."

Dark hair wasn't typical of the Rohirrim and so the Rohan ruler couldn't help but be a bit sceptical, which was exactly what the Elves had expected. However, they were unprepared to buffer any allegations he made against their accusation of their attacker's nationality. They had no hard evidence; all they had was their word.

However, that seemed to be enough.

Even if the relative rarity of dark-haired men in Rohan made this unbelievable, it narrowed things down.

Thengel remembered his scouts that had vanished soon after the first run in with Thorongil and his Elven friend. He had not seen it as suspicious right away of course, but over the past few days it had been bothering him and now he was sure that he knew why. Ceorl had not returned either. As a matter of fact, he had noticed a desertion amongst the ranks as of late, though he had thought nothing of it, blaming it on the simple fact that the orcs were pillaging and mauling villages at a time and the men were probably afraid for their homes. Besides, they hadn't been signed into the Mark, they had joined of their own will and therefore were allowed to leave when the need arouse.

However, he had a dark feeling that half of them at least were up to something behind his back and had taken advantage of Rohan's just laws.

He said one word finally, after mulling everything over in his mind, "Deor."

Elrohir and Roth both resisted the strong urge to look at him strangely, the man being the king and all they felt that it would be a bit disrespectful to bear him such an expression. He knew their attacker...

"Excuse me, my lord, but who is Deor? Or was," Roth corrected himself quickly, recalling that he had _shot_ the man dead. He shifted in slight embarrassment and then waited patiently for an explanation, even though inside he wished they could cut through the chase and he could know how Legolas was faring.

"He was a scout, along with his comrade, Ceorl. They were scouting for me not two days ago. As a matter of fact they had managed to capture this fair-haired Elf that you speak of –Legolas?" He waited for them to confirm his question before continuing. "That was when we were riding towards Edoras. We spotted his and Thorongil's fire and made for it, unsure if they were friends or foes. They grappled with Legolas and we surrounded Thorongil."

Elrohir looked impressed and Thengel looked at him curiously. The younger twin sounded astonished. "Grappled with Legolas?" His eyes were wide and he blinked in disbelief. "Without acquiring a scratch?"

Thengel admitted, "Well no, Ceorl managed to get a small arm wound. It seems they caught your friend unprepared." He stared at Roth and Elrohir quizzically, understanding that this was a rare thing to happen to any Elf, seeing as how they were always very alert and vigilant.

However, Roth and Elrohir couldn't disclose any explanations and so the subject remained on track.

Thengel admitted to the Elves that the scouts had gone missing but that this was not unusual since they always leave from time to time, fulfilling their jobs as his companies' eyes and ears. Although, he further divulged to them the fact that he was not at ease, there had been strange goings on lately and his people were suffering for it.

Both Elves seemed to piece things together very quickly but it was Elrohir who spoke faster, cutting off Rothinzil, who gave him a quick glare. "Is there any reason that Ceorl and any followers of him might commit treason?" The younger twin didn't expect Thengel to take any offence at his pressing question and his trust in the man's judgment was rewarded.

"Not to my knowledge, I know that at one point in time in the village he came from, that the Dunlanders intermixed with his people, but that was long before his birth." Here the man smiled a little. "That was when I was but a small lad."

For a moment no one said anything, no one had to. They all knew what each one of them was thinking. Someone had too much Dunlander blood in his veins and that same someone was not going to ignore it –he was appreciative of it.

"And you say that he has Legolas captive?" Thengel made sure that he had nothing confused, staring squarely into Elrohir's eyes.

The younger twin nodded in answer and then added, "And we know not of Thorongil's fate. He is a close friend –a brother. As we mentioned earlier, we caught up with him and after the assault parted. We know his intentions were to free Legolas and then return to help you with the orcs, but we do not know what has become of him or Legolas."

Jut then their conversation was interrupted by a hesitant messenger who parted the tent flap slightly and reported, "A boy has ridden into camp and requests an audience, my lord. Shall I tell him you are occupied at the moment?" He couldn't imagine what a boy would want with the king himself, but of course, who was he to judge? It would be on his head if his lord missed an important message because he turned the child away.

The King of Rohan looked at the two conscious Elves before him as if asking their opinions. He waited patiently for less than a minute while they seemed to be thinking of the options and weighing the possibilities. Seeing no objection on their faces as they returned his gaze, the king ordered his sentry, "Escort him here and then leave."

The man nodded curtly, merely doing his duty and left to carry out his liege's orders.

The Elves and mortal ruler waited for over five minutes. If Thengel was impatient he showed absolutely no sign, however, the Elves were openly anxious, thinking only of their loved ones. How long could it take to escort the boy to the blasted tent? This was ridiculous.

Noises were heard of shuffling feet just outside the doorway and all three looked at the entrance way in anticipation of the child and sentry's entry. It was not more than a few seconds before they were rewarded and the boy stepped through, agilely slithering through the meagre opening with the sentry at his back.

"Thank you," Thengel addressed the guard politely, having respect for those of his men who earned it. "You may return to your post." The man nodded humbly and left without any more words, allowing the tent flap to swing closed behind him, leaving the four in privacy.

Roth, who had been staring at the ground in anxiety, took notice of the way the child, who looked like death, held his foot at an odd angle. It was twisted almost fully around and with a pang the mortal Elf realized this impediment had existed from birth. Sorrow struck his heart that a child should know despair after barely beginning to live. He knew what that was like to feel outcast and unwanted and it was something he could never forget. Pity swelled in his sensitive heart. Inconspicuously tapping Elrohir's thigh, he gestured towards the crippled limb with his eyes and Elrohir was immediately taken aback, even if he didn't openly show it.

King Thengel indulged the boy, greeting him as though he were an adult all the while flashing an encouraging smile. "What news from the Mark?" The greeting was more than one between two grown-up men, it was conventional for the Rohirrim soldiers in their communications.

The boy didn't answer at first, and Elrohir began to wonder if one of his other deficiencies was being a mute. However, this thought was a bit ridiculous because he had demanded to be brought here.

"My lord, now is not the time to be smiling. Two people I care about very much are in grave danger as well as…as everyone here, I think," The youth's answer was unimpressed and flat. He was a boy, granted, but he knew when there was serious trouble and he knew of the dangers that he spoke better than anyone in that room could imagine.

King Thengel sobered up immediately, seeing that this child was obviously old enough to know the earnestness of the situation and there was no sense in keeping a smile on things when everybody knew it was a lie. Turning graver, he coaxed the boy, "What is it that you came to tell us?" His voice was gentle, encouraging and calm.

It took a minute for the boy to answer as he was busy gawking at the three Elves, looking sorrowfully at Elladan for the most part. Their ears…more Elves…but they were accepted here. His father was wrong. He was deluded. "My father is Ceorl, he has a contingent of traitors riding towards Isengard as we speak with an Elf, Leg'las, and a man, Thorongil, in their possession." The mispronunciation of the prince's name was overlooked in the anxiety of the moment.

"And he sent his son to tell us this? Why?" The lord of Rohan's eyes narrowed in suspicion that he didn't try to mask. He wasn't going to me outright mean to the boy, but he was going to be firm and that was to be expected. He had a feeling that none of this was in the least the child's fault. After all, he had a boy at home and so automatically his heart held pity for the misfortunate youth.

"He didn't send me, I-I came anyway," the boy was trembling involuntarily as he wondered what was going to happened next. He had been involved in and aided in sedition and he knew that garnered death in any kingdom. Swallowing he tried to hide his fears and look brave, like Legolas. The prince had barely flinched when his father and Deor had first started in on him, taunting him and beating him…being horribly cruel. It burned his heart that the prince and Thorongil were still trapped in those deplorable, cruel circumstances.

Elrohir's face softened as did those of the king and Roth. He was remembering Aragorn when he was much younger and he felt his heart open towards this child just as it had for the lonely ranger-child he had helped Elladan gather up so many years ago. Smiling in an absorbed way that surprised those there, he almost slid back into a set of memorable reveries.

This boy had earned his trust through this small admittance. He had honesty and that weighted heavily in the Elf's mind and instantly made him think better of the boy. Looking at Thengel, observing the king quietly, he came to the conclusion that the ruler felt very much the same way and that this boy had nothing to fear while he was here.

Remembering the boy's impediment of a foot, Thengel gestured towards a light, easily traversed with chair and proffered, "Would you like to sit down?"

The child hesitated and then reluctantly shuffled to the chair that was no more than a few feet off, before sliding onto the wooden seat, still seeming rigid with apprehension. "My lord, Legolas and Thorongil are in grave danger. I wasn't supposed to come here but I couldn't…I couldn't go to…to _them_." He shuddered helplessly as he recalled his first contact with the brutish servants of Mordor. They had made his stomach sick and his heart labour in his chest by merely looking at them. He could never converse with them. Never.

Thengel narrowed his eyes asked in a firm but kind voice, "Who, child?"

"The orcs…" his voice had become a trembling and barely audible whisper, unable to contain his fear for his new friends and his fear of the cruel orcs. He had just found some kind people who had genuinely seemed to care about him. He couldn't lose that. He couldn't bear to see them dead.

The king leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak noisily, and scrutinized the boy carefully with his clear grey eyes. Elrohir looked alarmed and sat up more straight, while Roth looked like he was going to be sick. "Orcs?" he wasn't surprised about the fact that there were orcs roaming his lands. Numerous clashes, one particularly that had started this mess, as well as their pursuit of the creatures proved that.

"Yes, my lord." He suddenly stammered, "My father was collaborating with them to undermine your rule and ultimately the entire kingdom, people and all. But he is playing both ends for the middle, I think." For being a boy of merely fifteen years, with no teaching, he seemed to be incredibly smart when left to his own devices and perceived things rather quickly and clearly. The king of Rohan was candidly impressed yet again.

"But is he consorting with the Nameless One himself?" If this were so, this could mean real trouble. He didn't think any mortal was that brash besides the Dark Lord's own creations, but things were changing and he couldn't be too certain. After all, he was dealing with treachery, which was made entirely of deceit and people who were good at it and usually demented in some way. He wouldn't put communicating personally with the Dark One past any of them.

The boy shook his head, confirming the negative. "No, only with his messengers. Orcs mainly and strange men that I couldn't tell you about. I have only heard him mention them once or twice," he confessed a little shamefully, wishing desperately that there was more he could do. Remembering his father's new plans, to sell Legolas out to some demented man, the youth spoke up before his liege or the Elves could get a word in. "He is also in contact with a strange man, Sharky, who wishes for an Elf to breed some new sort of, ah," he fumbled for the right words, "monster orc?" He probably sounded crazy but he felt that this was important enough to risk that.

Elrohir finally opened his mouth and asked the first question concerning the information. "But why not sell Legolas to Sauron for that purpose? Does Sauron know of this Sharky?" His voice turned quiet, but he looked at the boy with only kindness in his eyes.

"I can't say for certain." The Elf looked a little disappointed at the admittance so the boy tried to add more facts if he could remember them. "I think he is trying to get the most out of this that he can, namely in money. The Dark One will pay him handsomely for the black horses and for his cooperation. Sharky has promised the same in return for Prince Legolas."

Elrohir, as well as Rothinzil, looked openly startled that this young human knew Legolas' title but the way he referred the Elf as though he was a friend led the Son of Elrond to believe that Legolas had let him know. However, in the back of his mind, he knew that it shouldn't be known and that something was wrong. Still, now was not the time to be splitting hairs.

Thengel had not missed Legolas' title, and having not known it before merely looked at the boy curiously before setting the subject aside for a later time.

Sighing as things became a little clearer; he rubbed his hands wearily down his face as though wiping off weariness. "So it isn't about revenge?" he mumbled halfway to himself.

Here the boy looked up and he frowned darkly, hard seriousness giving his voice a bitter edge. "It never has been. It was about money." This didn't surprise the king even if it did disgust him. His people were peasants and he wouldn't be amazed if the wickeder ones tried to earn money by selling anything that wasn't nailed down, living or dead. It just so happened this man and his followers were either incredibly smart or extremely lucky.

"How many of our people have collaborated with him?" he asked the child, who seemed pleased at the reference of 'our people'. He wasn't seen as a traitor in his lord's eyes and it was heartening that he wasn't talking his way to his death.

"He has at least one hundred, but they are capable of more trouble than they seem. The orcs support them." The boy suddenly shuddered with emotion and he implored the king with wide, terrified eyes, "We have to do something! You have to rescue Legolas and Thorongil! You have to! He said he would kill them if I came here."

The king looked at the child with mild compassion. He could read in the child's eyes that Ceorl's threat was no bluff and that he would take Legolas' as well as Thorongil's life -and Thorongil's sooner.

Elrohir was now verging on a state of panic and Roth looked like he was swallowed something vile, leaving his face with a green tint. Normally they wouldn't have let their emotions take them this far but they had come so close to getting their loved ones back and to possibly have them taken away forever when they were this close was frustrating and more than a little frightening. They didn't know how their own homes would hold up if Legolas and Aragorn perished considering that the two weren't even dead and already things, inanimate and living, were rapidly decaying.

"We will leave to find them at dawn, my lord," Elrohir notified the king, not asking permission. They needed this afternoon and night to recover and collect themselves otherwise they would be worthless. His only worry was that they could not take Elladan with them and he feared to leave his brother alone in this world of men and bored soldiers who might not mind making a spectacle of the prone Elf. He had never been good at entrusting his brother into other's care and now it was especially hard.

Roth, as much as he was itching to go and save his prince and sworn brother was not disposed to leave Elladan behind by himself either. His heart was heavy and he almost leaned against a tent post in despair and weariness.

The king looked the two Elves over respectfully, even though he was having thoughts that they were half-mad. "And what of your brother, Lord Elrohir?" he questioned the identical Elf, who glanced at him with carefully masked irritation before looking at Elladan's frail hand and squeezing it gently.

"I don't know." He had to be honest; he knew that he couldn't leave Elladan here by himself. And he didn't want his brother to awake surrounded by strange faces in a tent without a friend to speak to. Elladan would be in horrible pain when he awoke and that would only delude his perceptions of what was transpiring further. He didn't want his brother to think that he had been abandoned or that something horrible had happened and that he and Roth were both killed. Elladan needed encouragement and drive if he was to survive this and if he thought his brother and friend were dead he would let go. Elrohir knew it and he would never forgive himself if that happened.

King Thengel prepared to throw the divider and section off the tent into equal parts to give the Elves their valued privacy, but he stopped and said one last sentence. "We are going to attack the orcs at dawn. Hardly a man will be left here."

Elrohir only nodded as he tucked the edges of a woollen blanket tighter about his brother. Afternoon had lengthened into evening and the air had a biting edge and was able to slither through the cracks of the tent in cold drafts. The last thing that Elladan needed was a chill that could ignite a fever or worse. True, Elves were not susceptible to illness the way humans were, but wounds this grave could do outlandish things to their normally resilient systems and make them unnaturally vulnerable to the cold's effects. Of course when they had lost almost all their blood, this was understandable to say the least.

The king of Rohan quietly observed the brotherly love shared between the companions for a moment and before he let the divider fall, he asked the boy, "And where are you staying tonight? Surely you aren't going to go back, are you?" He was willing to house the child, having an understanding that he and his father were not on good terms.

The boy looked uncomfortable. "I wouldn't want to be burden, my lord."

The older man chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair with his hand, truly grinning for the first time that night if not for the boy's sake than for his own. "I have two thousand spears, three Elves and many horses. You would make little difference; that I can assure you." His voice was friendly and inviting, but living a life of suspicion and continuous harassment and betrayal had taught him that those coaxing words were not always to be trusted. He openly hesitated and Elrohir stopped what he was doing behind the divider, having heard everything with his acute Elven hearing that wasn't even necessary to pick up over half of their words.

Peeking around the dividing cloth, he smiled warmly. "He can stay with us. Roth is rather dull to talk to." He cast the affronted, glowering warrior a jesting smile and then said seriously to the boy, "Really. You can stay."

**TBC….**

**LOL This chapter wasn't so bad….(ducks randomly hurled objects) All right…but you really have to admit that it could be worse! LOL **

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**See you Friday! –Celeb and Tin**


	7. This Fear is My Own

_I Will Always Return_

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**CHAPTER SEVEN**

This Fear is My Own

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Legolas had been walking alongside Ceorl and his horse for a while now, five hours at least, and he was amazed at the progress that the band of traitors was actually making. They had covered at least a league or two by now and he was beginning to feel the effects of their travel. The natural Elven endurance he possessed was undermined by all of the stress of his wounds, torment and being in a cave as well as the capture of Aragorn, so he was more vulnerable to weariness than was typical.

However, Aragorn was far worse. Even if he was extraordinarily strong for a mortal, his body was not fully healed since Harad and susceptible to much more than Legolas' was. His face was still sickly pale and his stumbles were becoming more frequent, making Legolas cringe each time as he watched the rope around the man's neck tighten threateningly and the human was forced to stagger up on his own or be strangled. It was only a matter of time before the man fell and was unable to get up and Legolas didn't know what would happen then.

True, it was only morning but the night had hardly been restful for either the Elf or ranger. The men had been grumpy and tired, and had succeeded in getting drunk; some more than others. In his stupor one man had decided he was sick of seeing Legolas' face and punched the Elf across it, sending him to the ground before he attempted to hit him a second time. Though Legolas had remained silent and only glowered, Aragorn had not and it was his cries for the man to leave the Elf alone that had brought the situation to the attention of Ceorl.

Ceorl had immediately yanked Legolas out from under the drunken man and when the other human charged him in his drunken insanity, Ceorl had not hesitated to run the drunk through with his sword. After that incident he had personally kept an eye on the two prisoners as Legolas nursed his smarting face in silent fury. Aragorn had not slept all night, looking after the wellbeing of his friend as he realized that the Elf was too proud to ask for help when he needed it. The only true protection the two had here was the temporary vigilance of Ceorl and it was hardly trustworthy or reliable.

Staring now at the wound in Ceorl's arm that he had made when they had first met, the Elf was surprised at how fast the wound was healing. It still didn't compare to the legendary Elven healing capabilities or even with Aragorn's but it wasn't becoming infected. Frowning, the prince wished he had cut the man's throat instead. Things would have worked out better.

Aragorn was walking alongside a horse near Legolas and his head was bowed with his dark unkempt hair obscuring his bruised face. Legolas could tell that he was concentrating more on staying conscious than anything else and the Elf felt anger burn through him so that heat nearly radiated from his lithe form and his natural glow unnoticeably brightened in the daylight.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn nearly stumbled on a tussock of dead grass that caught the toe of his boot and refused to let go for a couple of seconds, placing a snag in his stride. Inevitably, he stumbled and his body sank into a doubled-over position over his knees as his weariness caught up with him. However, he was given no time to recover and the noose around his neck tightened as the man on the horse continued, not heeding Aragorn as he struggled to stand up but could not.

The ranger's knees buckled and locked beneath him but the effort of crawling didn't provide enough progress to lessen the pull on his neck. If anything, the man on the horse sped the animal up a bit merely to watch the other man struggle and ultimately suffocate. After all, his chief had not ordered him stop and this trip had grown rather boring.

Legolas heard Aragorn fall and stopped his walking, digging in his heels rebelliously and watching in formidable wrath as the horse and human that Aragorn had been handed to continued to move. He could hear Aragorn's asphyxiating gasps without his Elven hearing and he knew that the ranger was too weak to save himself.

His face twisting in a snarl, he pulled his wrists back and back-pedalled, digging his heels in the spongy grass for footing as he did. The Elf's rebellion pulled against the saddle of Ceorl's horse, confusing the animal that snorted and stopped, stamping its feet in agitation. However, Legolas got the short end of the deal as the rope noose around his neck tightened and started to cut off his air and blood. His vision started to blur but he ignored it, snapping as fiercely as he could with hardly any air, "My friend is being strangled back there by one of your idiot men!"

He continued back-pedalling in order to hold his ground and his glazing eyes narrowed at Ceorl who glanced back casually. "Aye." Looking at Legolas he asked indifferently, "So?" He watched amusedly as Legolas writhed, pulling desperately at the end of his ropes while all the while it tightened closer about his neck, beginning to bite into the soft flesh and constrict his wind pipe. His face was turning colourless.

"You have to stop it…" the prince growled, continuing to twist and pull at his ropes. His hands twisted wildly in their bonds as he tried to draw them free. Being an Elf he could last longer with minimal oxygen if it didn't completely cut off his windpipe.

Ceorl had now stopped his confused and aggravated animal, watching without emotion as Aragorn's horse and rider started to ride past and Legolas looked at them helplessly, with frustration written across his face.

Finally, as he saw his last chance to grab Aragorn's rope slipping away, Legolas lost it. Throwing himself forward, his bound hands latched onto the rope attached to the noose about the man's throat. Pulling back against where it was secured to the horse, Legolas prevented the rope from tightening further and looking back at Aragorn called in Elvish, "Rise, my friend! I have the rope!"

The man on the horse pulling Aragorn along reined in his beast, looking to Ceorl for a command but the other human said nothing, merely put up a hand as a sign for silence and then watched the exchange. Noticing the halt of their comrade and leader, the rest of the procession stopped as well.

It was obvious that there was not much the Elf-prince could do and the attempts he would make could prove interesting, if nothing else. But Legolas wasn't paying attention to their jeers or taunts, having eyes only for the single person he had left to depend on in this situation. But the frightening thing was, he didn't know if he had that person anymore.

Aragorn didn't move and Legolas wondered if he had been too late. The human's chest wasn't rising or falling and his eyes were glazed in a way that resembled the eyes of the dead. His face was flushed but a blue tint had discoloured his lips, leaving them look ghastly and unnatural.

Fearing Aragorn was dead, Legolas' face fell and he felt himself choking up inside so that even if the noose around his neck had been non-existent breathing would have been impossible. He felt a strange fear seep through his body, causing him to freeze and almost go into a trance. He was terrified of being alone and terrified of losing the one person who cared about him amongst all these people. He was terrified of even surviving this while Aragorn died, never to return with him. What colour his face had regained during their travel suddenly drained. The Elf's hands started to shake and their grip on the rope tightened, as though he was trying to hold onto Aragorn through his bonds.

Suddenly, Aragorn moved, his bound hands clawing at the rope on his neck as he tried to pry it free of his now bruised and burned skin and free his wind pipe. Legolas rushed over, even though the rope around his own neck was still painfully tight and he was at the end of his ropes. Gently he stuck his fingers around the underside of the rope and helped to lever it away from Aragorn's neck, mindful to not cause the skin more irritation or injury.

Aragorn flinched under Legolas' gentle touch, recoiling at the pain his friend was accidentally causing. Hurt flooded the Elf's eyes but he let Aragorn have his space, understanding that after the experience he had just gone through, the human might not want to feel overly crowded. If the situation were reversed, he knew he would want breathing room.

Aragorn realized what he had done and inwardly slapped himself. Legolas had put himself at great risk and could have easily been strangled himself. Clearing his throat but still sounding hoarse Aragorn, murmured, "Sorry, _mellon nîn_. Thank you." He looked blearily into Legolas' relieved eyes, his vision still hazy. "I am all right," he added to try and put the prince at ease.

Legolas nodded but as his hands grabbed Aragorn's to pull the ranger up, the human felt how they were shaking. He had really scared the prince and Aragorn wished that he was stronger, so Legolas wouldn't have had to go through this.

Legolas smiled thinly, but it was obvious that he didn't really mean it. There was nothing to smile about and his eyes still conveyed his anger, fear and relief all fused together. "On your feet, Thorongil."

Aragorn's lungs, working on making up for lost breath, worked rapidly, sometimes above their capabilities, causing him to cough excessively for a few minutes. Curling in on himself, he was steadied by the prince as his in- and exhalations finally became regular.

Regaining his balance, Aragorn was about to tell Legolas not to worry, that he would be fine, and that the Elf had better fall in line before he got in trouble but the ranger was too late in his warning. Just as he parted his lips to speak the rope around Legolas' neck was given a violent yank and the Elf staggered sideways towards the direction of the pull, unable to help himself as he was caught off guard.

His hands flew to his neck to try and relieve it of the cord that was biting deeper and deeper. Legolas felt adrenaline accompanied with panic surge through his system, tensing all his muscles. The force of the reeling in of his rope had knocked him to his knees, but the prince defiantly staggered up, refusing to remain down for long. His 'fight or flight' responses were kicking in, namely the _fight_ response.

Aragorn, though weakened, fought at the end of his bonds, desperate to get to his friend's side. Legolas had done as much for him and he wanted to return the favour. He would never forgive himself if the Elf was strangled right before his eyes and his hands twisted manically in his ropes, looking for an escape. Unfortunately the length of rope around his arms wasn't enough to escape; it was even shorter than Legolas' bonds.

Legolas continued to fight the rope and managed to gain his feet more than once only to have the rope yanked harder so that he fell, not having enough strength in his oxygen deprived state. Even if the rope wasn't very long, the Elf's formidable struggles lengthened the process of bringing him in and when Ceorl finally got a hold of him, he was not in an indulging sort of mood.

A blue tint was now discolouring the Elf's lips and his mouth hung open in futile attempt to even absorb the air around him, reminding Aragorn of a fish out of water. The Elf's eyes were spacious and the glitter of anger was dulling in their depths.

Legolas had to look up at Ceorl, since the man was mounted and the Elf was struggling not to sink to his knees on the ground. Ceorl gave the rope a spiteful twist and with his other hand, backhanded Legolas sharply so that the crack echoed off the hillocks and resounded in the Elf's ears. His head snapped to the side and the prince tasted blood. Legolas' bound hands clawed desperately at the rope constricting around his throat as he felt like he was dying and his system was failing. "You had better never pull a stunt like that again, my dear prince, otherwise, I will let him be strangled and you will have to watch as I drag his body along. I am being gracious right now, or did you forget our pact?" Since Legolas couldn't possibly answer, the man continued, "What ever you do will impinge upon the ranger?"

Ceorl saw his words vaguely register in Legolas' cloudy eyes. Snarling in disgust, the man thrust the Elf away from him, relinquishing his hold on the rope and kicking Legolas in the chest so that he stumbled backward and fell. The elf was much too weakened to catch himself and simply lay against the soft grass, working his fingers hurriedly between the hemp and his neck as he pried at it. It took him only moments to stretch the noose out enough get some air to squeak into his lungs.

His airways instantly responded with spasms, as they reacted to the air that passed through them. A coughing spell wracked the Elf and he curled in on himself as he seemed to be expelling a lung by the strength of his coughs. His starving lungs rapidly sucked in air, involuntarily doing their job as Legolas lay on the ground panting.

Aragorn moved forward to help but was restrained by the man holding his rope, who had reeled him in closer out of sheer spite.

Aragorn longed to be at Legolas' side but the last thing he wanted was to cause the Elf more trouble as it seemed the prince had almost found more than he could handle. Feeling exhausted, Aragorn sighed as he knew they were going to be forced to walk further. His body had been subjected to a lot during these hellish past few days and even through the pace was slow he simply was tiring. True, he could probably continue for a little longer yet but sooner or later he would feel the effects. He was beginning to feel them now.

In moments Legolas had regained his footing and was standing, still breathing a bit heavily but it was starting to even out again. His face's natural colour had returned, still paler than normal but it no longer had an unhealthy blue tint to it.

Legolas had already taken note how Aragorn's body trembled slightly and even before he was fully recovered the prince wanted to address the issue. It was one that could not wait seeing as how things had already started moving again. "Please…" his voice was hoarse and weak but he hardly cared now. "Let me walk beside Thorongil, he needs support. You are pushing him too hard!" The prince's voice regained some of its strength towards the end.

Legolas would allow that Aragorn was a Dúnadan, a strong man of the West, but Harad had nearly run them both into the ground, and then after the recent torment and lack of rest the ranger had been subjected to before they started this little escapade Legolas knew that Aragorn was becoming vulnerable to sickness. And illness aside, the human had already tripped once, what if it happened again and Ceorl didn't order them to stop? If Legolas interfered things would get worse.

His eyes glanced hurriedly back at Aragorn, who was frowning in disapproval. He didn't want Legolas taking on anymore burdens for him but he knew his friend all too well and realized that it didn't matter; the prince would do it anyway. Any arguments or efforts to interfere would be futile.

The man on the horse rolled his eyes. They needed to make more progress. Things were going slow earlier, which was fine, but now this stalling was ridiculous. Wanting the prince to come quietly as possible, well aware of the kind of trouble a single Elf could make, he granted the prince's request.

Before the procession started up once more, he had Aragorn bound the same as before but joined beside the Elf, their wrists linked for better security.

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Elladan slowly cracked one eye open, giving his surroundings a scrutinizing sweep as he tried to remember where he was. His head was throbbing and it took him a few moments to work up the courage to open the other eye. To his surprise, there was no increase of pain from the minute movement and he almost breathed a sigh of relief, except it felt as though a weight of fire was compressing his chest and his lungs were hesitant to fill with air.

Blinking a couple times now that he realized it was relatively harmless, the Elf mustered the strength to call for his twin brother. When he received no answer, he closed his eyes and tried once more to try and recall how he had gotten here and where exactly here was, but his best efforts were in vain.

Something moist and cool was being pressed to his head and thinking it was his brother applying a wet cloth, Elladan allowed his eyes to fly open in full expectance to see Elrohir's smiling face leering over him. But the Elf recoiled with a jerk, seeing an unrecognizable face bending over him, the other being's hand resting on the cloth covering his sweaty forehead, keeping it firmly in place despite Elladan's feeble protests.

"You are safe, Lord Elladan," a young voice tried assure him into a calm.

The voice sounded too assuring to the partially delirious Elf and only incited suspicions, goading him to further struggling despite his pain. "Where is my brother?" he managed out, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Please, my lord, you need rest. You have taken grievous injury! Your brother is has left momentarily but he will return shortly." The boy removed his hand from Elladan's head as the elder twin struggled up into a feeble excuse for a sitting position, eyes wildly searching. The wet cloth slipped from the Elf's forehead, revealing its pasty colour.

The more sane part of the Elf might have recognized the fact that he was far too injured to be moving so rapidly and so impulsively, but the more irrational part of his being was oblivious to any such notion. He continued to try and further remove himself from the cot he had been assigned to during his unconscious state, but it was ultimately futile and his blood loss had left him easily tired. However, he refused to relax until he knew what was happening and exactly where Elrohir was.

"Who are you?" he stared through narrowed eyes at the boy, who had backed away. He had had no prior contact with Elves other than the conversations he had held with Legolas while he had seen to his wounds. To him they still seemed unpredictable creatures of fantasy and he was still admittedly afraid of them.

"I have no name…your brother told me to look after you… I-I tried my best…my lord," the youth stammered, gathering up the courage to hobble closer to the frantic Elf.

Elladan relaxed slightly and he couldn't help but lay back against the compilation of blankets and cloaks meant to create soft bedding over the cot. The boy seemed harmless enough and he coughed slightly, instantly regretting it as his chest erupted in agony. Pain blossomed from some wound towards the centre of his chest that he couldn't quite remember. "Who is my brother?" If the boy knew his brother's name, then chances were he spoke no lies.

The boy seemed puzzled for a moment, either trying to remember the Elvish that fashioned the younger twin's name or trying to understand why Elladan had asked such a question. It was anyone's guess. "Lord Elrohir," he ventured, with no mispronunciations.

Elladan seemed satisfied with that and he closed his eyes as pain broke over him, causing his body to spasm for a couple of seconds. Lightly touching his wound with a shaking set of hands, the Elf was instantly familiar with his brother's administrations. Elrohir had his own flair to how he had managed to perfect his healing capabilities, especially in how he bound wounds and his folds and knots were unmistakable. There was no denying his brother had been here at some point or other.

His body felt as though it was suffused in heat and sweat glistened on his brow. His fever that he had acquired in his unconscious state had broken, bathing him in sticky perspiration. Everything on his body felt so heavy and he fully relaxed against the blankets as his muscles refused to remain tense any longer, having taken all the stress that they could handle –Elf or not.

Gradually, the boy eased his way to Elladan's side and sat down beside the prone Elf, allowing his crippled foot a reprieve. Elladan opened one eye to look at him and then shut it as light penetrated the tent through a minute hole in the top, burning into his grey orb.

"Where is Elrohir or Roth today?" He knew that his brother would never willingly abandon him into someone else's care and the only real reason he trusted this boy was because Elrohir had obviously willed that he should. However, if he was basing his trust merely on moral implications alone then he would have to go by the sense of honesty radiating off of the youth.

The boy frowned, trying to figure out a way to explain this that might not end up with his strangulation. Elladan would not be pleased about what Elrohir or Rothinzil had done and the full meaning of the old adage "Don't shoot the messenger" had never had more meaning. "They went in search of your friends…leaving before daylight actually." Elrohir had filled him in on their close-knit relationships before bed the other night but he still couldn't understand what a human was doing living among Elves.

Elladan's face immediately conveyed alarm. "What? By themselves?" his raspy voice cracked towards the end of his question, inciting the boy to struggle up and fetch him some water from a wooden bucket and ladle in the corner before supplying him with an answer.

Elladan gladly accepted the water, but stared over ladle as the youth struggled to explain all that had happened. The boy was certainly animated about his descriptions, excited about something…or perhaps simply anxious.

"King Thengel is leading a force to attack the orcs…he will later rejoin with Lord Elrohir and Rothinzil to destroy or capture the band of traitors that has taken Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil captive." There was an underlying sadness in the youth's voice that mildly confused Elladan, but he brushed it off as irrelevant for the time being.

"And what will Rothinzil and my brother do until his majesty's forces merge with them?" Elladan's voice sounded slightly accusing, but none of his tone was directed at the boy. The child didn't know that Elladan was used to Elrohir trying to pull off the strangest sort of stunts and ventures and what was unnerving Elladan now was that he was not attempting them with him. Rothinzil was not exactly the most agile of Elves and it was a minor comfort at the most that those two were paired up and left to their own devices.

"Plans were made for Legolas to be sold over to a man named Sharky, though the exchange will be made between…his captor and one of the buyer's underlings I suppose. There is a minimal amount of time for them to intercept him and Captain Thorongil." The boy explained things as thoroughly as he knew how without revealing who he was or what part he had played in these events up until now. He had a feeling that Elladan would eventually piece things together and figure it out, but he wasn't comfortable enough with the Elf to let him in on the secret just yet.

Elladan nearly dropped the ladle in surprise, progressively lying back down so he wouldn't motivate his injury to further pain. It was bordering on unbearable as it was, though somehow the water had provided some relief for his pulsing headache and had naturally quenched his thirst. "They went by themselves!"

"You have to understand! There isn't much time!" The child urged Elladan to comprehend and appreciate the severity of the situation. His imploring bordered strongly on whining.

Elladan quirked a sculpted eye brow and then scowled. "What do you mean?" He had a sense that he was being kept in the dark about something and he hated it when he wasn't fully informed, this spawning from being the eldest of three.

"I mean that Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil both stand to lose their lives before the day is out." The boy did his best to explain this patiently, trying it from another approach, hoping to satisfy Elladan's prying.

Unfortunately, being the eldest brother of three had also taught Elladan how to read the tell-tale signs that he wasn't being told everything there was to hear. And spending time around a young Estel had been excellent, if even tedious, training for this very moment.

"What are you trying to hide?" he asked firmly, but kindly, willing his voice not to break. He wouldn't hurt the boy by any means, but it was important that everything was brought out; otherwise things could go downhill fast. Something the youth might not see as important could mean everything.

The young human seated himself wordlessly by the prone Elf, watching his own hands as he folded them in his lap. His expression was one of fright and shame, one that Elladan had seen numerous times before. "It is my fault," his voice was broken by a guilt-stricken sob.

The Elf's face softened at the reaction and he coaxed, "How is it your fault, young one?" The boy had never informed Elladan of a name.

"I shouldn't be here. He said he would kill them if I came here. He will know, they will die." The boy buried his face in his hands, but the tears slipped through his fingers. Everything he had been through, seen or done in his life was finally spilling out in this moment and he couldn't stop it.

Elladan's heart froze. He didn't know what to do and he merely tilted his head to the side, "What did you do?" This might not have been the most encouraging or comforting thing he could ask, but his head was still reeling.

"He told me to go to the orcs…to tell them…or Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil would die…I did not go. He said he would know and he will…it will all be my fault," The boy spat the words, fury building against himself as he realized all that he had done. Even if it had been right, he couldn't understand why it still felt so wrong. He couldn't stop the shaking of his shoulders and Elladan stared at him curiously, not understanding.

"Who told you? What do you mean young one? You have to tell me or I cannot help you."

"My father…"

Elladan could have been knocked over with a feather and his jaw literally seemed to drop. He knew that his head was spinning anyway and to make sure that he had not heard incorrectly he asked, "Pardon?"

"My father…only by birth. He hates me, he hates the prince, and he hates Captain Thorongil." The boy's sobs alleviated some and he shook his head in regret. "I should never have come here." More tears cascaded from his eyes and landed on the ground, Elladan watched them fall.

"Who is your father? Tell me everything. I promise you, you are safe here," Elladan said in a calm voice, belying the fact that he was terrified of losing his human brother and beginning to feel altogether furious with the situation which was getting more and more hopeless. And what was hurting him the worst was that while Elrohir was out, risking his life with Roth to get Legolas and Aragorn back, he was confined here to a cot with a snivelling boy. And then he threw another factor into the equation when he remembered that he was not the only one injured and that Roth and Elrohir had wounds as well, wounds that would certainly interfere with their shooting capabilities as well as most other fighting techniques.

He leaned closer to the boy, since the child had started speaking exceptionally soft. He was obviously hesitant to spill all the information that he had been a deeply guarded secret for years. Elladan listened closely without missing a word.

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It was mid-afternoon and Ceorl and his men had been forced to make an early camp to accommodate the injuries of their prisoners, particularly the injuries of Aragorn. They still needed to keep him alive to ensure that Legolas wouldn't cause any more trouble along the way. The blonde man wasn't too concerned though, they were ahead of schedule to some extent and his orders had been to bring the Elf in reasonably good health. And, the fact that his son had not returned led him to believe that he had indeed delivered the message to the orcs and they had…disposed of him. The boy was a fast rider and would have made good return time had be been alive. A detached smile crossed the man's face as he realized that he was finally rid of the brat for good.

Legolas and Aragorn had been secured to a medium-sized wooden post pounded into the ground specially brought along on this escapade by Ceorl for this purpose. The ropes that had been set about their necks had been relinquished to give them a temporary reprieve but their wrists were still linked by the rough hemp. However, this didn't aggravate two prisoners as much as the leashes had. But with the neck restraints being abandoned, they should have known Ceorl had something else in store for them and he had their feet bound excruciatingly tight. Their hands were above their heads.

Aragorn was clearly enjoying the reprieve and the warmth of the hot sunshine as was Legolas. However, when the man's eyes silently checked up on Legolas' brand marks, he was alarmed. Grime and sweat covered them, and some skin was still exposed, revealing them for the nasty dangerous wounds that they were. The bruises were fading except for the fresh ones on the Elf's wrists, chest and face and were posing no danger.

"Legolas, your wounds are…well they are becoming infected," he referred to the burns, that he now noticed upon closer inspection, were edged in tell-tale red and inflamed.

The prince looked down at them and shrank his flat stomach in to get a better view as he inspected them for himself. He grimaced, having not wanted to admit that they were in fact that severe but there was no denying it now. Looking to Aragorn, he shook his head. "They are just not getting the proper attention to heal." But, his gaze turned firm, "I will be fine."

Aragorn appraised the Elf in an equally firm voice, "No, you won't be, not if those are not properly tended to. You and I both know it, so it is futile to argue." His unmoving eyes levelled any protests from the prince that his voice hadn't already dissolved.

"Well we can't do anything here. They will have to wait. What about _your_ wounds?" he asked accusingly, looking Aragorn up and down as he mentally assessed the man's condition, which was far from good and in fact worse than his own.

Aragorn was unimpressed, "Legolas, I am not finished with you yet and you know that you had better listen to me." He hissed in the Wood-Elf's ear as Legolas sighed tiredly, a sign of temporary compliance. "Let me see your neck."

The Elf looked quizzically at Aragorn, and shifted so that he didn't have to twist his neck so much. It was stiff and the burned and bruised skin still smarted. Aragorn's unrelenting stare finally forced to Elf to obey and Legolas inclined his head, allowing his shortened hair to glide gracefully to the side. In truth, he wasn't going to waste his strength by arguing and actually right now he wouldn't mind keeping still through one of the ranger's medicating applications.

Unfortunately, the way they were bound prohibited such actions, but Aragorn had a trained set of healer's eyes and he could at least visibly inspect the prince's abrasions. Nevertheless, it burned Aragorn's heart to see the Elf's discomfort and be able to do nothing to assuage it.

Gritting his teeth, he saw the inflamed wrapping welt that had swelled right beneath Legolas' jaw. Fortunately, it seemed to be receding some, even if it was an abnormally slow process. Aragorn smiled inwardly. The Elf's renowned system of recovery was still working on less severe wounds, even if only at a much slower pace that might have been considered normal for a healthy man. "That looks nasty, but I think it will be gone in a couple of days," Aragorn informed as the Elf straightened up, wincing as his stiff muscles complained. "Still sore?"

Legolas groaned. "Just a little," he admitted in a sarcastic mumble, wishing he could massage the aching muscles. Suddenly he glared at the ranger with concern and asked accusingly, "And how is your neck? And while we are on the subject, how does your back feel?" He had not been able to forget the beating the man had taken and he knew Aragorn's secluded nature and love of silence very well.

Aragorn bristled at the accusing attention of his friend but couldn't argue. "It's coming around."

Legolas raised a sculpted eye brow and almost shrugged but that would hurt too much. "If you say so." He had his doubts but was simply not in the mood to argue. Aragorn was too stubborn.

Aragorn feigned hurt and looked at the Elf with a smile splitting his bruised face, "Thanks for the vote of confidence. It means a lot. Really."

The ranger's sarcasm caused Legolas to grin and gingerly shake his head, making his shortened hair swish slightly around his ears. This only served to garner a soft chuckle from Aragorn, causing the Elf to stare at him questioningly. "What?" He asked when staring obviously wasn't going to provide an answer.

Aragorn bit his lip to keep from laughing, but resulted in an amused snort. "Your hair, _mellon nîn_. I didn't want to say anything earlier…." The man didn't need to finish and he couldn't meet the Elf's eyes as Legolas glared like an unsheltered cat on a rainy, gloomy afternoon.

"Well your hair isn't exactly complementary itself, _filthy ranger_," Legolas retorted a bit defensively, but it was obviously meant to be jocular and Aragorn accepted it as being such.

"Prissy Elf."

Legolas couldn't' help but laugh softly as the hoarseness that still lingered in their voices made their jesting all the more funny. The whole situation was not humorous in any way when they really looked at it but right now, they couldn't help but feel a bit untouchable, feeling safe in the warm company of each other and the bright sunshine.

One of the various men of the camp happened to notice the shared laughter between the two and was not pleased, seeing nothing funny and having a feeling that they were laughing at him or his companions. Of course, such fun-making would be unacceptable and he meant to remind them of that, particularly the Elf, who was still grinning. In hot frustration at the thought of being their entertainment, he wondered how they could both be up to their necks in hot water and still find a reason to laugh…or even smile.

Legolas heard the human approach before Aragorn did and his head jerked up, the smile fading into a caustic glare as he sized up the man. Without his armour he looked less intimidating but still, he was just as tall as the Elf and about three times as heavy and altogether not a pleasant looking individual. "What's so funny, _Elf_?" His malicious tone and over-enunciation of Legolas' race spoke volumes.

Legolas stared hard at the man, but Aragorn felt the prince's hand clench as sweat wetted his palms. "It's an inside joke, you wouldn't get it." The surly tone of the prince only darkened his agitator's already nasty mood.

The captor cracked his knuckles menacingly, prepared to wipe that surly look of the Elf's face and deliver an additional bruise or two. He was sure that Ceorl would understand completely. "Try me, Elf." He sneered, still forced to avert his eyes as he could not withstand Legolas' piercing blue ones for long.

Legolas remained silent, but inwardly braced himself for a blow to his face…again. Why did people always have to hit his _face_?

Just then Ceorl happened by, with some other errand about the camp-set up and maybe even the alteration of a few plans and his eyes habitually checked up on the status of his prisoners, just making sure that they were still _there_. But he stopped in mid-stride when he noticed the man towering over them with an impatient and angered scowl adorning his face that was directly mostly at Legolas.

Not about to lose his merchandise or bargaining chip, as he considered Legolas and Aragorn to be, the blonde man prepared to intervene if merely glaring wasn't enough. Apparently, his reputation had preceded him from the prior night's events with the drunk and glaring was adequate.

Seeing he had garnered his captain's undivided attention, the man threatening the prisoners back-pedalled a few steps and then hesitated before turning around and retreating back to his spot on the ground where his supplies and gear were strewn out. If he got a chance or was permitted he would deal with them later.

Ceorl kept vigil for a few more seconds, making sure that the man was truly letting the captives alone before going about his business.

Legolas watched the man go, his eyes boring into his back the entire time until he had seated himself with a huff and snarl, contenting himself to fidget with whatever he had shuffled out of his pack. Soon the Elf smelled the sweet, but sickening odour of pipe-weed smoke, as the grey cloud quickly dispersed and spread with the wind. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he looked at Aragorn and sighed in frustration.

Aragorn almost did the same, the feelings of disappointment and irritation being mutual between them.

Legolas closed his eyes, obviously intending to rest for the allotment of time that was provided. Leaning his head back against the wooden pole, the Elf swallowed as he tried to relax. Aragorn watched silently for a few minutes as the Elf fidgeted, and twisted in his bonds, attempting to get comfortable and each time pulling against Aragorn's wrist, until the ranger could stand it no longer. "Having trouble?" he asked softly, causing Legolas' eyes to flutter open in response to his voice.

The Elf's forehead wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. His voice was soft and apologetic. "Sorry, I was just…thinking…and wood is not an overly comfortable pillow anyway." He looked at Aragorn for a moment before closing his eyes again. His stress was obvious by this change in natural habit that the Elf had been doing since this entire business started.

Aragorn scrupulously eyed the Elf, whom he could tell was doing anything but resting. Legolas was many things, but he was not a good liar. Not at all. "Thinking about what?" he asked softly.

Legolas didn't answer right away and his eyes remained closed even when he finally did. His voice sounded as though his thoughts were far away, anywhere but here. "Many things… the future mainly." He settled closer against the pole, feeling irritated.

Aragorn stiffened at his friend's words, almost going completely rigid against the post they were secured to. Legolas was afraid. "Legolas," his voice's tone pulled the Elf out of any reveries and the prince blinked Aragorn into focus, giving him his full attention.

"Hmmm?" He seemed to be favouring vague responses.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to bring this up. Even in Harad he had avoided this subject. "Legolas, you don't have to be afraid." There was no other way to say it and so Aragorn made the statement point blank. Legolas made no response except for looking longingly at the rolling hills and open grasslands surrounding them, turned golden by the sun. He threw back his head and let the sun bathe it with its warmth.

"Legolas, I won't let anything happen to you."

The prince's eyes narrowed as he sat up and he smiled at the ranger's touching concern. "I know that, Thorongil," the Elf continued with the use of the alias out of habit. "If you are alive. It's just…I don't…I will not _become_ an _orc_!"

"So you are afraid." His tone was flat, and Legolas flinched inwardly at the accusation.

"Not as much as I have been recently." Images of Harad came to Aragorn's mind and the dreaded black box and his friend's helpless cries… seeing Legolas walking of his own power onto the platform ready to willingly be beheaded in the knowledge that his friend was safe. How scared had the prince been there and said nothing? He had been nothing but selfless, as he had a growing habit of doing. Legolas realized what Aragorn was thinking, their memories being mutual unless you counted the differences in perception, and he shook his head, "Not in Harad. Just a few days ago." When Aragorn's puzzled didn't disappear in an allotted time of a couple seconds the Elf confessed, "I was afraid I would lose you…forever."

Legolas didn't want to add that he had feared this since he and the human had first become more or less blood brothers. He didn't want to tell Aragorn that there was an eternal pain in his heart that would never be soothed, no matter where he went. Someday, by the sword or by the crumbling process of time, Aragorn was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing that Legolas could do about it. There was no cure for staying the same and watching everything around you fade.

Unfortunately, Aragorn's close bond with the Elf that could turn telepathic perceived the prince's terror and the man's eyes blurred with tears that he quickly blinked away. Legolas felt a wave of guilt strike the man, breaking over him like waves upon rock and immediately the Elf felt regret, but he couldn't take it back now.

Aragorn instantly recognized this pain that Legolas was feeling. He had seen in so many times in his family's eyes, in their voices. To see it burning behind his friend's eyes and feeling it shredding away at the Elf's sensitive heart was unbearable. Legolas was more afraid of him dying than of being turned into the thing he hated most and all the agony it would take to get him there. Looking away, he couldn't watch the prince anymore. If they hadn't been bound together he would have walked away to hide and cry.

Legolas felt his friend shaking as he barely stifled choking tears and shifted closer to the human, consolingly whispering. "It isn't your fault." He knew that Aragorn wouldn't believe him, but it was all the comfort that he could offer. His regret had no boundaries as he realized the unintentional pain he had caused.

Aragorn didn't respond and the Elf persisted, "Is it your fault that I chose to call you my dearest friend and brother? Is it your fault I chose to love you as a part of me? Even if you had never met me, would sacrificing all the good times that we had together be worth preventing one fear?"

Aragorn would have smiled under normal circumstances as memories of good times rippled through his mind, willed by the power of the Elf but he simply couldn't seem to remember how. Suddenly he flinched in surprise as Legolas' long fingers laced through his, their two hands that were bound together by rope now becoming bound by love. The prince squeezed gently in an effort to assuage Aragorn's pain and whispered, "No matter what happens, I would have followed you into Mordor to face a thousand foes if you had asked it of me."

Just like he had refused to leave Aragorn in Harad, or in Rohan and was paying for it as he had so many times. Maybe Beleg's words were true, spoken so many years ago to Túrin Turambar. _"Elves and men should neither meet nor meddle."_

Aragorn felt his throat constrict to the point where he literally couldn't breathe. It was as though the noose had been placed about his neck again and was cinched all the way, so that he would never breathe again. A ripple of fear cut through him and Legolas felt it, as though it seemed to travel like ice water through their linked hands and it touched his awareness.

Aragorn knew that Legolas knew that he was afraid, and he wasn't going to dishonour their friendship and attempt to hide it. "Do you remember when I made you promise me that you would be there at my coronation?"

Legolas nodded as his thumb stroked Aragorn's hand the same way he had felt the ranger stroke his after his nightmare. "Yes. Of course. I never forget a promise."

"I didn't want to be alone," he whispered softly. Ever since he had fallen deeply in love with Arwen, he feared rejection from Elrond and ultimately from his brothers, even if it wasn't until the very end. He didn't want to be left alone and he had always trusted that Legolas would be there but all the same he had made the Elf promise, even though he knew that he didn't have to.

"You need not have bound me by a promise Estel," the Elf confirmed what Aragorn had already known. "I would have come anyway. I mean, keeping you alive has been such a task, I deserve to see the fruits of my labour." A smile split the serious face as the Elf smiled at his own jest. The smile was contagious and Aragorn found his lips curling up at their corners.

"I know," the ranger said softly, calmed now as he felt the Elf's thumb running up and down the back of his hand. His breathing had eased as had his heart. He stopped the motion, surprising the Elf as he twisted his hand free of the prince's loose grip and grasped the Elf's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude. "_Hannon le_, Legolas."

The Elf only smiled. "You're always welcome, my friend." Shaking his head he changed the subject as he accused protectively, "and you need your rest." He appraised the human lightly, "You make death look alive." The dark rings around Aragorn's eyes that accented their grey depths concerned the Elf as did his extensive injuries that had no chance to even start healing.

"Oh, and I suppose you don't?"

Legolas gave a small frown. "Point taken." Looking about the dismal camp, he saw the majority of people had already taken to their bedrolls and were lying sprawled out on the grass, smoking or sleeping…or attempting to do both simultaneously. Even being an Elf, he finally needed a reprieve and had to get some sleep one way or another.

Aragorn offered, "I'll take first watch."

Legolas shook his head, "No, you won't. We need no watch, bound as we are. What will come, will come, whether we see it ahead of time or not. Sleep, my friend. We both need it."

Aragorn understood the wisdom of the Elf's words and in truth, his eye lids had become unbearably heavy so that even as he smiled at the prince they were partially covering his grey orbs. All the same he didn't want to be caught unawares, but when Legolas started to hum a soft, melodious, flowing Elven song, the ranger found himself unable to resist sleep and gradually he submitted to it, leaning slightly against the Elf, the slow song echoing through his dreams.

Legolas continued singing until it was dusk and he felt the ranger fully relax against him, having a decent rest at last. Smiling softly to himself, the Elf watched as his breath ghosted slightly in the cooled, damp air of the evening. The stars were beginning to come out, peeking from the darkness in little radiant points of light. Legolas' eyes sought out the star of Eärendil, finding it without difficulty as he had done so many times in his long life. Its radiance reflected on the grasses and stalks of plants below, almost as though it were moonlight. After watching the celestial point of light for a few more minutes, the prince went on and shifted his gaze towards the constellation commonly referred to as the Sickle that was rising to the North. Finding some comfort in the twilight, the Elf continued staring up at the sky and in that manner fell into a light asleep, his head leaning against Aragorn's and his eyes open, merging starlight and dream.

:0Ї0:

Elrohir looked sidelong at Rothinzil, both of the Elves lying flat on their stomachs on the crest of a small hill, spying out the land. Their horses were left to graze on the opposite side of the hill. "There are lights towards the West, did you not see them? They are small, but I think they are what we seek." The two had been travelling a bit slower than was normal for Elves to accommodate for their injuries and for the meticulous search of the ground for clues but all the same made considerably better time than men, reaching the farthest part of the Westfold before the darkest parts of evening.

"Yes, I think I see them. But it could be a town," Roth felt compelled to remind his friend. Elrohir raised a sculpted brow in response and looked at the warrior as he though the other Elf was out of his mind. "Very well," amended Roth in a mutter, "perhaps not." His cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment and he shifted his weight on his elbows to accommodate for the growing pain in his shoulder. Elrohir's ministrations had been well done but there had been only so much that the other Elf could do.

"There looks to be at least one hundred men," Elrohir assessed after counting their camp fires and discovering there to be around ten to fifteen little flames, which he reasoned there would probably be around ten men to a fire give or take a couple.

"A wonderful number," Roth scoffed under his breath. "It couldn't be five, or even ten, it had be to ten times ten." His dark sarcasm brought a half-smile to Elrohir's face as the younger Elf brought the dire situation into perspective. "And the stars had to be so bright tonight…" his grumbles continued.

Elrohir frowned and pushed himself up onto his knees, gently dusting off his elbows. "Don't curse the stars, my good Roth. They might be of help."

"To the enemy," came the morbid response and Elrohir sighed. This wasn't like his friend, who was usually brimming with optimism and goodwill towards all things living that were not the Enemy's allies or Him himself. But with the growing-up of his children and the aging of his beloved wife, the Wood-Elf had smiled less. Then when Legolas had disappeared with Aragorn for years on end he had finally began to give in to depression and the sea-longing he never thought he would have, and never thought he would miss, was tearing him up inside. Being mortal, having sworn allegiance to his wife that he loved above all things, the West was no longer an option lest he betray all that he had ever loved and worked for.

"I think it means that the Valar, particularly Elbereth, is on our side." Elrohir stood up, willing his tired, aching body not to sway. Offering Roth a hand, he grasped his friend's arm tightly as the other Elf reached up to him and pulled the warrior onto his feet, steadying him gently.

"Well I hope you are right," he murmured quietly, not looking at the youngest twin and instead, staring thoughtfully at the campfires where he knew Legolas to be. For a moment Elrohir was sure that he felt hot anger flood the younger Elf and transfer through his hand and arm that were on the warrior's shoulder. "Save it for when we need it, Roth," he advised, knowing the odds of winning a battle against one hundred were not very good, two to one hundred to be exact.

The other Elf stared at him quizzically. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Elrohir frowned, watching their breath ghosting in the chilled atmosphere for a minute before answering. "It means that you shouldn't let your anger get the best of you. We are going to be facing _one hundred_ at least, Roth. You know that the odds are not going to be in our favour. Save your anger for battle and don't waste your remaining energy now."

Roth nodded in consent, and Elrohir felt him relax under his hand. "We will get them both back, Roth." He wasn't only promising this to the other Elf, he was promising this to himself, by all that was good in Middle Earth.

Looking at out into the distance over the swaying grass, Elrohir watched the flickering campfires, and he prayed that Thengel and his men would make good travel time and get here before the camp packed up and left. He and Roth were not supposed to have to face one hundred by themselves and had only a small allotment of time to wait before they must take the initiative and do the best they could with what they had.

:0Ї0:

Thengel looked around in disdain as he saw the ground, carpeted by orc corpses and here and there a Rohirrim warrior, face down in the grass with a puddle of thick blood pooling beneath. Every now and then a wounded horse struggled to stand as his bloodied master was forced to put him out of the misery of an untreatable wound. Some already lay dead, killed instantly by the orcs. The fighting had been intense when he and his warriors had finally caught up the creatures, which were cornered by the mountains and therefore unable to retreat. They had fought as cornered animals do, desperation marking every move they made and making the battle that much more fierce. Both sides had been armed to the teeth and neither one with less resolve than the other.

The result had been a field of blood and even for the Rohirrim, who had obtained victory, the cost had been frighteningly high.

Spurring his horse and guiding it with his heels alone, the King of Rohan stopped by the side of a limping soldier. "We need to be ready to ride again within the hour." He hated to tell this to his men when they had just fought so diligently and for so long and lost so many of their brothers, but it was what had to happen. They had to know, they had to come, and there were no alternatives. "Can you tell your men that, Eómund?" His voice was sympathetic, even if his request was not and his second in command seemed to understand.

"Yes, my lord," he replied in a battle-hoarse voice, nodding in compliance. His feet hooked with themselves and he stumbled, obviously fatigued. Removing his helmet, he let the cold breeze of the twilight ruffle through his sweat dampened hair.

Thengel frowned and his voice was apologetic. "I am sorry."

"Well, my lord, it isn't your fault," Eómund's answer was soft and cautious. Sighing, his breath came out in puffs of ghost-like steam and quickly dissipated into the air. He looked sorrowfully at the body of what could have been one of his companions, but he could not tell, the dead man was face down and his helmet still on.

Thengel was silent, and there was the sound of leather moaning as he shifted in the saddle, beginning to feel some of the effects of their long ride and battle. "So they tell me, Eómund, so they tell me."

Looking at the carnage that littered the area, he felt his blood boil as he remembered this was the work of treason and traitors. Who could bear this much hate towards the country that raised them and the people that had befriended them? Sighing, his breath slowly draining from his lungs, the king of Rohan decided that he didn't really want to know and that he probably would never understand anyway.

Eómund knew better than to answer and so he just asked, "What is to be done with the dead? We cannot leave them here as carrion for the birds and what else may happen by; more orcs…" He was silenced as Thengel raised a hand palm extended and shook his head.

"No, but my good Eómund we must. We cannot afford the delay." He would not allow these traitors to reach their destination, whatever else would happen. And he didn't want to lose Legolas or Thorongil to their treachery either.

It was obvious that the other man didn't agree, at least not wholly. He might have seen the sense in it but that didn't make it any easier to do. People that he had known for years and had become sort of a surrogate or second family, had fallen here, and some he didn't even know where they lay, all he knew was that he could not find them. It seemed that they had crawled off the battlefield in their agony, looking for solace in solitude, trying to find a suitable place to die. "Yes, my lord." His voice was soft, respectful but obviously hurting.

Thengel shared the same pain and his brow wrinkled as he clamped his eyes shut, wishing that he could will all of this into non-existence. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but go and make those responsible pay for every drop of innocent blood spilled in their game. "We will return here. Those who are responsible for this carnage will get what they deserve."

"I fear not soon enough, my lord," came the soft reply, he nodded his head briefly in respect before turning his back to go and attend to his duties, namely getting the wounded on horses and preparing for a second battle. The slump in his shoulders spoke volumes about his feelings and his fatigue, but feeling Thengel's eyes on his back, he straightened them and went on with his head held a bit higher than before.

Coming cross the first reasonability healthy human-being he had seen in a while besides himself and his lord, he called, "Get your horse prepared! We ride within the hour!" His command was met with a nod and soft grumble, a sign of a sour mood and low morale.

Yes, he told himself, the morale was becoming a real problem. However, it was understandable to an extent and it didn't help that it was dark and that the place smelled of good and foul blood. Tomorrow it would dawn on his fellows that those lost were not coming back, they were gone forever. Once this happened, things could go one of two very different ways with very different consequences. The men could turn on themselves and wrap themselves in their depression, resulting in poor fighting or ultimately death and defeat. If this happened they were resigning themselves to death before the battle started. Or, they could feel a hot anger that would fuel them into battle and give them a sweeping fury that would annihilate their opponents or at least beat them down so that they could be successfully secured.

It was hard to imagine that they would be going up against those whom they had once called brothers in arms. As a matter of fact, the reality had still not fully hit Eómund yet and he still felt a sense of detachment, as though this was all unreal. However, as he suddenly stumbled over the outstretched, ensanguined arm of one of his fallen comrades, he knew that this was no dream or illusion. It was as real as anything he had ever encountered in his life, and there was no escaping it.

Going over to his dirt brown horse that was still drenched in a frothing sweat, the man stroked its wet, well muscled neck encouragingly. "We're all tired, boy. Just a hold on a little longer and then you can eat the sweetest hay and grass." The animal nickered softly and rubbed against his ear with his large, soft velvety nose. The hot breath of the animal ruffled some strands of his master's blonde hair and the man managed a thin smile.

Thengel was having similar thoughts as he rode around checking up on his men and the situation in general. A few times he had closed his eyes and opened them, half-expecting to be staring at the ceiling of his bedroom or military tent. However, he had no such success and was forced to resign himself to the fact that this was real and that there was nothing that was going to change it.

He must have stayed in one place after subconsciously reining in his mount, thinking about all these things because he didn't realize that Eómund was waiting, mounted at his side. Snapping out of his morbid reveries, the Lord of Rohan looked expectantly at his captain that was earning his trust so quickly. This was not the only time the young man had proven himself. "Yes?"

"We are ready, my lord."

:0Ї0:

Elladan lay on his cot under a woollen blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, wishing he could see through it to the stars that he knew must be shining brightly in such crisp, clear weather. The boy, who was sitting in the corner with his head half-propped up by a hand while the elbow was in turn resting against his knee, had finally given into sleep. He had disclosed everything to the Noldor Elf that he could possibly explain and then fell into a complete state of exhaustion.

However, that didn't deter him from trying to continue with attending to Elladan's every need, since the Elf couldn't get up very easily and was still in a lot of pain. He had managed to stay awake and on his feet long enough to get Elladan some water every hour for three hours. However, after that, when Elladan had fallen asleep again, the soft sound of the Elf's eased breathing had coaxed him into a fitful sleep himself.

Elladan had woken up soon after and roving the room with his eyes, he had seen the child, slumped over near the bucket of water. It had brought a small smile to his face and he had watched the boy sleeping for a few minutes before his attention had been drawn to other things.

He now knew exactly what was going on, for the most part. While the boy had told all that had happened to Legolas and Estel he had done his best not to flinch or show overly much emotion. However, now that hardly anyone was around and the one person who was had fallen asleep, he sat up slowly and sighed, placing his head in his hands and rubbing them down his face. He should have known they would run into something like this –no, wait- he had known. It was perfectly predictable.

He would have liked nothing better than to get up, find some warmer attire, a horse and throw caution into the wind to go and fetch his troublesome brothers and his equally troublesome friends and bring them home. Unfortunately, he could barely move and it still felt as though an obese Oliphaunt had decided to sit on him for an extended period of time. If he had not known better he would have easily believed that his chest had caught fire sometime during the night too. It was obvious that his wound, no matter how well bandaged by his brother, was becoming inflamed and dangerously close to getting seriously infected.

Subconsciously, his hands strayed beneath the tattered remnants of his tunic to lightly touch the bandage and trace its intricate knot that was Elrohir's trademark. Frowning, he couldn't imagine what he had put Elrohir through these past few days. Supposing that they all survived this escapade, Elrohir would kill him, pray to Mandos to have him sent back and then kill him again, or something along those lines. And since Elrohir was the more devious one, in his opinion, the younger twin might even find a more creative means of payback.

Sighing heavily, Elladan instantly regretted it as he was left gasping for breath and struggling not to cry out. His wound was still very fresh and despite the fact that he was an Elf, near mortal wounds still healed incredibly slow. Although, he was sure men would marvel at the progress he had already made, such as sitting up on his own and moving anything at all. The more Elladan thought about it, the more he wondered if actually his supposedly faster healing was due more to determination than any aspect of health. Dwelling on this only a minute longer he supposed that was probably so.

Cringing inwardly as he thought of the grievous injuries his mortal brother and Legolas had already taken, Elladan felt the obligation to be at their sides. It was where he had meant to be all along and he was beginning to understand that he just couldn't be the least bit satisfied sitting around here wasting time…healing - some how he managed to quiet the healer part of him- Valar, they could be dying!

And even supposing that they were yet unharmed, then he would still have to get them home. They wouldn't have homes anymore if they didn't return shortly and he wasn't going to watch his family and everything else that he loved fade.

Experimentally attempting to stand up, Elladan fell against his backside almost immediately with a small cry as all his muscles had apparently decided to call it quits. They were the smart ones, he told himself darkly. Pain blossomed in his chest and spread throughout every part of his body like a wave, enveloping him in agony.

Realizing that he was unable to help his brother and the determination quieting inside as his wound dominated everything he did, Elladan reluctantly sank back down against the numerous blankets and other soft material that fashioned his cot, relinquishing his struggles to walk. It was obvious that his throbbing body would not tolerate such insanity and so he was trapped here, tormented by what he did not know.

Oh, he knew his brothers and friends were in for more than they had bargained for, but how much more he could not tell and the outcome was what he feared. Keeping his hand under the dilapidated remnants of his tunic, Elladan kept his hand on the bandage his brother had made for him.

In the corner the boy shifted and opened his eyes, and started as he realized he had fallen asleep and essentially shirked his duties to the Elf, however unintentional it might have been. Scrubbing his eyes with a hand, he struggled to his feet and limped over to Elladan. Seeing the Elf was awake, he asked softly, "Is there anything that you need?"

Elladan clamped his eyes shut as pain broke over him, causing his body to convulse, which only made things worse. The boy felt panic surge through his system as he had no idea how to stop the spasms and felt completely helpless. He felt responsible for the majority the trouble they had experienced and he was feeling sick with the shame that he couldn't provide any help. "Lord Elladan?" he asked when the Elf opened his eyes.

"You are tired. Sleep. I will be… fine," Elladan said forcefully, willing his voice not to crack. Right now he wanted to be left alone, he wanted to think. Somehow, he was going to trick his body into compliance and somehow he was going to find a way out of here.

**TBC...**

**Yes, of course Elladan will be fine...-girls grin- ...you all can keep telling yourselves that. This chapter definitely had a case of mushisness (wow, that is actually a word), didn't it? But everyone needed a little dollop of TLC. Poor things. Or in Roth and Elrohir's case, they need someone to take their frustrations out on...so they are still unsatisfied. And what was this? Rothinzil getting grumpy and agitated? LOL**

**You should be getting the review responses soon this evening. Probably shortly after this post! And we would love to thank you guys! Honestly, this story is very hard and at points tedious to write, but those reviews and all the encouragement make it worth it:D They spur us on, so that brings us to our next subject...**

**Please review! We can't hear enough from you guys:D **

**See you next Friday! **

**-Celeb and Tin**


	8. Don't Let Me Die Here

_I Will Always Return _

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Don't Let Me Die Here

:0Ї0:

It was the early hours of morning and the sun had just begun to rise, tendrils of pink and red stretching across the clouds and illuminating the earth in a soft glow. The air was still chilled and the ground still damp. Dew clung to every part of everything and dripped from the ends of grass blades.

A hand closing over his mouth and two fingers, a thumb and forefingers, pinching his nose closed, severing his only link to oxygen, woke the prince with a start and he jerked, trying desperately to break the man's grip but without success. His bound hand clenched Aragorn's involuntarily as Ceorl drew a knife and the ranger was instantly awake, having developed a habit of sleeping as light or lighter than any Elf. Seeing Ceorl's hand splayed over the Elf's mouth and his fingers closing Legolas' nose, the man panicked and when his eyes fell on the decently sized knife enclosed in the man's other hand, he trashed against his bonds. "Leave him alone! Please! He will suffocate!"

"Shut up, ranger!" snapped the Rohirric man, irritated. "Do you think I don't know that?" He brandished his knife in Aragorn's face for emphasis before drawing it across his throat in a slow slicing motion, indicating what would happen if Aragorn did not comply. He didn't need the ranger anymore and he wasn't beyond killing him right here, right now. As a matter of fact, he rather liked the idea and the thought was growing on him. However, right now, Legolas was his main object of attention and he tightened his hold over the Elf' nose and mouth.

Legolas had stopped struggling after his initial surprise of the attack and was now watching Ceorl with a pair of cold, narrowed eyes, even as he felt his body trying to burst through his skin with the denial of oxygen. Swirling his eyes to look over at Aragorn, he gave him a disapproving glare, not wanting the ranger to get himself into more trouble than he had already gotten himself into. Turning to continue glaring at his captor, Legolas managed to stare at him in contempt for close to a minute before the man's face was losing perspective and becoming blurred as his eyes began to glaze.

"You are coming with me, as a sort of…insurance," he purred into Legolas' ear, relinquishing his hold on the prince's face in exchange for a grip in his hair, snarling his fingers in the light-coloured strands. Tilting the Elf's head to the side, he smiled, "and if I can't sell you off, then at least I have a bargaining chip of sorts."

Legolas attempted to pull away but the man trailed the knife beneath Legolas' vulnerable throat, allowing it to bite softly into the flesh under his chin as a warning. Legolas flinched at the sudden pain and stiffed as he was released and pulled disdainfully away, still bound to the pole. Ceorl just laughed and smacked Legolas' face so that his head connected with the wooden post. Then, to Legolas' dismay, his attention turned to Aragorn and a dangerous glimmer danced in his eyes. "I don't need you anymore."

Aragorn's face remained impassive but inside a cold fear clutched at his stomach and held him tightly. Looking to Legolas' he saw naked terror in the Elf's eyes. Unable to watch his friend's pain, Aragorn's eyes reconnected with Ceorl's. "Continue." His voice bore only the most contempt and he looked at Ceorl as though the man was slow in coming up with the simplest of explanations.

"Well, I could keep you alive, but where is the enjoyment in that?" he asked, fingering the nicely designed knife in his hand as a bratty child might finger a favourite toy. "And Legolas needs to have a good memory or two to take with him, does he not?"

Aragorn remained stoic and only arched a dark brow in response before muttering, "Why don't you tell me?" It was obvious that this man was going to kill him, one way or another, and he might as well antagonize him with all the things he had been dying to tell him from the very beginning. "You are going to die," he told Ceorl calmly, as though he didn't care whether the traitor lived or died but just happened to be stating the bare facts.

"Do you how many people have told me that?" he asked, inclining his head to the side as an arrogant looking smirk pulled at his lips' corners.

"The majority of people you have met, including me and my friend?" Aragorn guessed, unperturbed by the anger that suddenly glowed behind the man's façade of indifference.

"Close enough," Ceorl answered promptly, spinning the knife in his hand in a fashion that almost reminded Aragorn of Legolas' antics, except this human's was far sloppier and a great deal slower because Aragorn could pick out the individual revolutions of the blade. Legolas' usually looked like a single blur and lasted less than a split second. "But you know what? They are either dead or about to die themselves."

The tone in the man's voice almost caused Aragorn to cock his head to the side in mild confusion. He felt Legolas stir uneasily beside him. Legolas' hand still held his tightly and he could tell that the prince was scared to let go and not for himself but for Aragorn. It would take a good deal of leverage to pry them apart.

Ceorl was no longer looking at them but towards the east intently, as though deep in thought. Legolas twisted his head in the same direction, wondering what had gripped the man's attention. Aragorn quickly looked that way as well, narrowing his eyes as though that would help assess the situation a little better. "King Thengel and his little Riders mean to stop me, they mean to rescue you two. And funny, two out of the three of those dark hair Elves are still with them if my scouts are correct. Well, they are wasting their time! There will be no one to rescue, will there?" he asked, turning cold and merciless eyes on Aragorn and the Elf.

"Or maybe you don't see the whole picture," Aragorn suggested tartly, much to the disapproval of Legolas, who didn't want the ranger antagonizing Ceorl just in case their captor was bluffing. "Even the wise cannot see all ends," he continued, watching Ceorl with a calculating expression on his face.

"True enough, but I see yours pretty clearly," he answered and then everything was a blur as the knife was pulled back to gather momentum before being thrust towards Aragorn's abdomen at an astonishing speed. Legolas saw the knife being thrust towards his friend, and having minimal time to react, the Elf thrust his feet out, intending to catch Ceorl's arm and knock the weapon out of his grasp or if his kick was powerful enough, at least dislocate the elbow. Unfortunately, the prince's kicks did neither, because their momentum was slowed down by the cords about his ankles and he only succeeded in redirecting the knife from its original course.

The blade had been meant to run Aragorn through the torso and fatally wound his internal organs, ultimately providing a slow, agonizing death. However, with Legolas' kicks, it had merely been thrust towards the side and had raked an extensive gash along the ranger's side beneath his ribs. The man sucked in a gulp of air as his body immediately tried to cope.

As pain exploded in his side, and he felt the hot rush of his blood being freed of his veins, Aragorn became aware that there were two voices, screaming in unison. He soon discovered that one was most certainly his own as he found himself breathless and with a hoarse throat that had suddenly constricted in pain. Looking detachedly at Legolas he saw the Elf's mouth slowly closing and his eyes wide with horror and realized the other scream that was still echoing through his mind had definitely come from the prince.

Trying to curl in on his left side where the blade had sliced through him, the man moaned helplessly and a shudder ran through him as his pain-wracked body convulsed. Legolas could feel him trembling against him and he struggled closer against the ranger, trying to keep him warm as Aragorn's heat drained away with his rapidly dispensing blood. Glaring at Ceorl he half-cried, "You heartless fiend! You will die for this if I have to kill you myself!"

Ceorl merely wiped Aragorn's blood from the knife in the long grass and his face conveyed only the utmost most indifference. Legolas had leaned over, his blonde hair obscuring his face as he tried to get a better look at Aragorn's wound, but there was no moving the human and all he could do was watch as the blood ran from the ranger's side, blossoming into a red stain that was stretching. "Estel," he murmured soothingly, and then continued in Elven that was inaudible to everyone but his friend, trying to provide some consolation to the ranger. The man's hand that was bound against his own was shaking and Legolas held it tightly, afraid to let go.

However, he wasn't provided with much of a choice as Ceorl took his knife and severed the bonds about his hands, pulling the Elf away from the ranger. It took him a while to separate their hands, as Aragorn's clutched Legolas' tightly; refusing to release its hold and Legolas' own seemed to be clamped inescapably tight. After prying them apart, he produced a new length of rope and slammed Legolas to the ground so that the Elf was winded and pressed with his stomach and chest against the earth and writhing against the restraining hands that held him there. Wrenching the Elf's arms behind him, he twisted the rope about the prince's wrists and cinched it painfully tight, chaffing against the already raw flesh.

"No! What are you doing! He'll die!" Legolas spat, twisting his face around to glare at the man pulling him up by his bound arms. "You can't do this!" He lunged forward, trying to pull free and get back to Aragorn's side but he had no such success.

"I am well aware of that, and yes, I can do this. Just watch closely, Elf," he advised, and stooped down to sever the bonds that had snared the prince's ankles so that the Elf could stand on his own. However, this only served to encourage Legolas and he used to his feet to produce more leverage to push his way closer to Aragorn.

Ceorl lost all patience and he drove his fist into Legolas' ribs, eliciting a cry from the Elf as he obviously struck a sensitive spot as a cracked rib advanced to a complete fracture. The prince stumbled and ultimately his knees buckled and he fell to them, sinking down into the grass. Pain-glazed eyes filled with a burning regret met Aragorn's as the ranger lifted his head at his friend's cry but the Elf quickly averted them, not wanting to cause Aragorn more pain.

Aragorn waited for the prince to cautiously lift his head again and then he gave him an anxious look of disapproval. The Elf still had a chance, if only he'd use it. Aragorn knew there was a chance he could survive this wound, but it was so small and he knew that even if Legolas was taken away the resourceful Elf could probably find a way of escape. He didn't want Legolas to ruin that chance.

Legolas felt hands on his arms and his body being pulled to its feet. Unable to stop it and seeing how his futile struggles hurt Aragorn as he watched the prince suffer, the Elf allowed Ceorl to drag him upright. But before the man could steer him away towards the horse he had prepared, the fair being shouted to Aragorn in Sindarin, "I will be back, my friend! Wait for me!"

The shouts earned Legolas a cuff over the head and the Elf ducked slightly to try and avoid the punishing blow, his body's involuntary instincts taking over. The prince continued to gaze over his shoulder, looking back at Aragorn as Ceorl prodded him forward. Legolas almost half-expected to wake up and discover that this was only a nightmare and that he was at the worst still bound to the pole next to the dozing ranger, but no matter how many times he blinked he couldn't wake up.

Ceorl forced him onto the horse first, but he continued to hold the skittish animal's reins, not taking any chances with the Elf tearing off and leaving him behind in the dust. Mounting the animal behind the Elf, he kept one arm around the prince's chest and with the other one, used the reins. Legolas normally would have felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing the human so dependant on the reins, but he was too frightened for Aragorn, so that was all that he could think about.

Aragorn watched from where he was bound to the pole by one hand. His other hand had been set free when Legolas' bonds were cut, but it didn't matter, he hardly had the strength to move it anyway. No matter how many times he blinked or gently shook his head, he couldn't relieve it of the black tendrils that were creeping into his vision and he was beginning to feel strangely tired. He was barely able to hold his head up, but he forced himself to as Legolas rode off. Despite Legolas' promise, his brave words and strength, Aragorn didn't believe he would see the Wood-Elf again in this lifetime and most likely not the next so he was going to watch him until he could see him no longer. It wasn't that the Elf wouldn't keep his word; Aragorn just didn't think that he would be here to hold him to it.

When he couldn't see Legolas anymore, the pain in his wound seemed all too real, too vivid and he felt like he was _made_ of agony. The blackness darkening his sight grew until there was little left that wasn't mottled by the shadow and the frightening thing was, Aragorn noticed with an unnatural since of calm, was that it was still growing. The pain had already become a part of him in a way that made him almost numb to it and drawing a shaking breath, he submitted to the calling of oblivion. Unconsciousness or death, there was nothing he could do to stop either, and in this case he was sure that they would be one and the same. Before the blackness became full and all sound droned out he took peace namely in one fact, that Legolas would get away. Ceorl was an idiot.

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Elrohir looked sidelong at Roth, who sighed heavily, squaring his shoulders. Thengel had made good time despite all the odds and now sat on his left, with Eómund at his side, staring at the two mounted Elves. However, his coming had not been unnoticed, Elrohir was sure, and if he knew anything about traitors and people who took pleasure from other people's pain it was that that they were cowards who would rather turn back and run than face those they had angered. He wasn't overly surprised when he had seen a horse shoot out of the camp as if Morgoth himself was at its heels with a multi-tongued lash made of pure fire. He strongly suspected it was Ceorl, the only one that he wished to slowly strangle.

He wouldn't have minded if the traitor had disappeared, there was very little chance of him making it anywhere on his own and usually people of his sort came to one bad end or another, didn't they? But unfortunately, he had feeling that this treacherous louse had not been alone and had taken one of his prized prisoners with him, most likely Legolas, if he took everything he had been told earlier into account. With Legolas or possibly Aragorn as a bargaining chip, there wasn't much that he _couldn't_ do, even though he knew that the man's hostage would do everything in his power to impede his plans.

However, now the question was: how easy would rescuing the abandoned prisoner be? Since Ceorl, their leader, had deserted his men, Elrohir doubted they would be more organized or have any more common sense than a chicken with its head lobbed off. No, wait; since these people had managed to capture his friend, his mortal brother, shoot himself, Roth and his older brother and then wreak havoc, they deserved more credit. If there were a contest between a headless chicken and these people for common sense it would be a draw.

That didn't necessarily mean that there wouldn't be a battle, but there was the hope it wouldn't be as fierce and gory. However, if these people chose to continue and prove Elrohir's inner theory that they were no more organized than animals, then they might fight like a bunch of cornered dogs. Elrohir felt a little guilty about this analogy. He certainly hadn't meant to insult the dogs, after all.

"Well, what is to be done?" asked Eómund, looking between the two Elves and his lord dispassionately. He was too exhausted to feel overly much right now.

Elrohir looked at Roth, then at the two human's in turn. "Whatever we do, we have to try and avoid harming whoever was left behind. Ceorl left with either Legolas or Aragorn, I saw him."

Thengel blinked in surprise. "You _saw_ that, Master Elf?" He shook his head and asked, "How?" He had not seen anything and he stared at Elrohir as though the Elf was more magical than he had originally thought. He was almost beginning to think that Elves were capable of anything except flying, but he wouldn't classify becoming invisible as being out of their league.

Roth guessed the man's thoughts and mentally shrugged, bearing a strong sense of indifference. The king's opinion wasn't overly different from that of most men who had never seen an Elf die or under stress.

Elrohir might have sensed the king's opinions, but he didn't show it. He only smiled wryly, "My people have an, ah, extraordinarily keen sense of sight." Rotating his stiff shoulder to stave off uselessness, he then pointed towards the opposite hills. "He departed that way, taking Legolas with them I believe."

"So the men are leaderless?" Thengel questioned somewhat dubiously, looking at Elrohir with disbelieving eyes.

"Yes. I think so. I believe Ceorl decided to get his prize and run. But that is just my guess. I could be wrong," he allowed, still turning all the possibilities over in his mind. Looking at the King of Rohan, Elrohir pointed out, "It doesn't necessarily mean that they will be any easier to subdue. And also, if they took Legolas with them, it means that Thorongil is still there, somewhere… hopefully alive."

"They know that we are here, do they not?"

"I suspect so…"

Eómund shifted uneasily and voiced what everyone was already thinking. "They could be prepared."

Elrohir and Roth looked dubious. "They are a band of peasant renegades, they are leaderless, they are few in number, and they are probably ill-tempered and disunited." Roth didn't mean to sound insulting to either of the men, but it was true and he felt that they should weigh these things into the equation.

"But they are still dangerous," Elrohir added. "Like a cornered dog with claustrofobia."

Eómund looked at his king and then focused his eyes on his horse's mane and neck. "That's comforting." Thengel scowled at his sarcasm but understood his point all too clearly and mentally agreed.

"Not exactly," Roth differed with small a shake of his head, ignoring Eómund's sarcasm.

Thengel sighed heavily and squared his shoulders before looking back at his travel and battle wearied men, who were slumped in their saddles. He was not a military man by nature and in fact, hated the idea of campaigning and slaughter, but he had already reached a decision about this. "We will surround the camp and gauge their reaction from there. They might very well surrender."

Elrohir frowned and then looked at Roth before sighing over dramatically as a way of venting his frustrations. "Roth and I will search for Ceorl and relieve him of Legolas, if possible." Ceorl's men were outnumbered two to one with or without them, so it wouldn't make a difference if they left now.

"Take care," the blonde ruler said as a matter of farewell, knowing that there was no way he could contain the two and that he had no right to in any case, they had committed no crimes. He also knew that there was no way to persuade them to stay and that he might as well save his breath and time.

Elrohir merely smiled and Roth looked at the younger twin teasingly before turning a pair of serious eyes upon the king. "I will do my best to keep him out of trouble, my lord." A small smile pulled at his lip's corners, splitting his serious face and ruining his composure.

King Thengel smiled back and chuckled dryly. He hadn't been certain that this Elf had known how to smile genuinely, at least not publicly. Shaking his head as the two broke off from his soldiers and himself, the man decided that he would give up trying to understand Elves, which he knew wouldn't offend them any. They seemed content to be isolated and he counted himself lucky to have been honoured by their acquaintance, even if they seemed to be omens of an ill tide.

Before they were even out of site, he turned to Eómund, "Order the camp surrounded. Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets in or out. However, make sure to impress the order that none of the rebels are to be killed, unless they attack first. These are our brethren and when this conflict is over we want to re-establish ties with them." By laying a siege of sorts he hoped to at the least contain the traitors and at best, capture and subdue them. He expected that they would fight some, but he also believed that any resistance by them would be relatively short-lived. In time, he expected them to see the light of reason.

Eómund nodded and steered his horse around to do his lord's bidding. "As you wish, my lord."

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About midway out, Legolas had decided that he had had enough and that there were only so many things that he could stand. Having his best friend murdered before his eyes and then being used as a bargaining chip himself for a treacherous bastard that had begged for death in so many ways, was asking way far too much. True, his hands were bound behind his back and he wasn't in much condition to fight even a hobbit but he simply could not endure riding before this filthy, rude, evil man with his breath racing down his neck every few seconds. Something had to be done and he had come up with a plan had he intended to put this very moment to good use.

Having much experience riding horses, at the very least being far more skilled than the man steering this poor beast, Legolas thought of directing the horse without so much as using his hands or a saddle. Using his heels that were dangling over the side, he kicked the animal in front of its rapidly flexing withers, giving it the signal to stop. Confused, it snorted and stamped its feet, twisting around in a circle as Ceorl countered Legolas' request and slammed his spurs into the animal's sides. The Elf merely used his feet to keep the animal moving in a small circle and then spoke in Elven, which all good beasts seemed to understand, "Easy, girl, easy. Stop. Steady. Steady."

"You are more trouble than I had originally thought," Ceorl ground out in Legolas' ear, causing the Elf to withdraw from his foul breath that sponged against his face.

"How did you ever guess?" the Elf asked, still keeping the horse under his control. It was obvious the animal had also taken a liking to her second passenger. Ceorl's face turned an unhealthy shade of crimson and his eyes became more virulent than Legolas had thought possible. It was then the prince realized that despite everything the man had done, he had never seen him truly angry. A cold thrill of fear shot up his spine and raised the hair on the back of his neck. But there was no need for Ceorl to know that, so Legolas kept his face calculatingly cold.

However, Ceorl jerked the horse's reins to stop the animal's anxious turning and then, out of no where his fist smashed into the side of Legolas' face, toppling the Elf to the ground. Unable to catch himself or absorb any of his fall with his arms bound the way they were, Legolas simply hit the ground with a soft grunt as his battered ribs bore the brunt of his collision with the earth. Rolling over onto his stomach, he quickly struggled to get up, but Ceorl had already leaped down from the horse and seeing his captive trying to rise, drove his boot into Legolas' side, rolling the prince over onto his back.

"I am going to teach you to mind, Elf, as a good slave should," he growled, locking his hands on the prince's throat and constricting it completely. Unfortunately, before he had done this the Elf had just exhaled. His knee came down on the prince's chest, preventing the lungs to re-inflate. Legolas felt panic rising inside as he realized that he was suffocating and that Ceorl might not have any intentions of letting go this time.

Using his legs, he managed to wedge them between himself and Ceorl, and gathering leverage, he thrust the man off. Ceorl tumbled backwards a few feet, butLegolas had no time for recovery beyond getting a breath into his starved lungs.

Ceorl had never looked more enraged and he stood up, slowly stalking towards the Elf that was quickly working his way backwards along the ground, using his feet to push his body off the tussocks of grass. Legolas didn't like to make a habit of back-pedalling from an enemy but at the moment he was at the disadvantage and his goal was to stay alive as long as possible and if he was lucky, kill Ceorl.

Suddenly something pricked his hand and then sliced deeper, and he felt hot blood oozing out of his hand's palm, slicking his skin. Morgorth be accursed, what had happened now? The smarting sensation normally would have deeply bothered him, but he was too used to pain of that kind now and it seemed like it had become some part of him. The only thing that had the Elf concerned was the mystery of how he had gotten cut. There had to be something sharp there, after all, grass cuts typically were not this extensive and didn't bleed even a quarter as much as this laceration was.

His hands groped the grass beneath his back, searching carefully for the sharp object, not intending for it to bite him a second time. He had enough wounds already and Aragorn and a herd of nearly rabid healers would probably enjoy poking him full of stitches. The last thing he needed was to give that human more of an opportunity to jab a needle in and out of his skin as he was given some drug that put him out of his mind.

Eyes locked on Ceorl, the prince sighed inwardly when he saw the man draw his knife. He had an addiction to that blade, the Elf decided as he realized that Ceorl scarcely used any other weapon. "I still plan to get money for you, Elf, but I am afraid that I cannot get you to them undamaged."

Legolas licked a reopened crack in his lip after smiling tauntingly, "I am sorry to have…cost you money."

"Not as sorry as you are going to be," the man growled, tightening his grip on the knife as he stared at the Elf, obviously wondering where he should start.

Legolas' hands suddenly enclosed around and tightened on a long, sharp object attached to a staff or sorts. He wasn't sure what it was, although it was probably a disregarded spear, but he didn't feel so helpless anymore. It was amazing what comfort even the most primitive weapon could provide. Appearing to be squirming away, Legolas positioned his bonds over the sharp edge of the weapon, mindful not to cut himself a second time. He would be darned if he would let that thing get the best of him a second time.

Ceorl began to slowly circle him, smiling coldly, obviously enjoying this and taking his time, letting the fear develop in his victim. That was his big mistake.

Legolas winced as he felt his bonds split apart and the blood rush back into his hands, causing his cut to suddenly bleed with a vengeance. The return of life-fluid to parts where it had long been denied caused no small amount of pain and he grimaced as he suddenly rolled beyond Ceorl's reach and jumped to his feet.

The only thing he had ever seen more amusing than the surprise and fear on this human's face had been the look of Aragorn before he fell backwards out of a tree and into a pond. However, that had not provided the same amount of satisfaction that this was.

Ceorl blinked once and then steeled his face before asking dispassionately, "Elven magic?" The man was beginning to have second thoughts about Elvish powers. Maybe they deserved a bit more respect and maybe he was in over his head with this obviously riled Elf.

Legolas smiled and gloated, "Of course."

Ceorl suddenly grinned and moving forward, he kicked the spear up out of the grass, revealing the weapon in the early morning light. "Elven luck is more like it."

"It's more luck than what you have right now," Legolas retorted darkly, although he had to admit that up until this point this human had been ridiculously lucky, or everyone else, including himself, very stupid.

"That's mighty confident talk for someone who is unarmed and bleeding, and looking like he had just wrestled with death and only won by less than a hair," Ceorl's voice was strangely calm, but something akin to fear flittered across his face before housing itself in his eyes.

Legolas would have shrugged, but the pain in his shoulders and the rest of his muscles was too great, so he merely quirked a fair eyebrow in recognition of his opponent's point. Ceorl was right. He was unarmed. But what the man didn't seem to understand was that Legolas' wasn't beyond throttling him with his bare hands, if he had to, although it wouldn't be his first choice.

For a few minutes they stood there, sizing each other and the situation up. Legolas became forced to counter step to keep his distance between himself and Ceorl as they began to circle one another.

Legolas groaned inwardly with impatience. He didn't have time for this. Aragorn didn't have time for this.

Suddenly, Ceorl threw patience into the wind and charged the Elf, coming down to pick up the long shafted spear as a weapon beforehand. Coming low at the prince, he seemed intent to run the Elf through with the weapon. Legolas' Elven reflexes, though slowed by injuries, saved his life as he twisted out of the way at the last possible second, allowing the man to charge ineffectively past him and come to a skidding halt in the grass.

Legolas had only a split second to prepare himself as the man whirled around and this time, prepared to lunge the spear for the prince's torso. Apparently, his addiction to the knife had faded, mostly because it would require a proximity to the Elf that could prove fatal and it left the smallest margin for error. Legolas saw him draw back and his muscles tensed as he prepared himself to dodge a second time.

The spear was released and Legolas moved to sidestep it, successfully missing being skewered in the stomach. Seeing the weapon plunged into the ground and still vibrating from the impact, the Elf made a grab for it, taking advantage of his enemy's error to arm himself. Unfortunately, the age of the discarded weapon had taken its toll on the shaft and the way the wood splintered off and dirtied his hands told Legolas he would soon be fighting with less than half a spear.

Not deterred, he looked at Ceorl as the human hurried drew his sword, still refraining from using his knife if it all possible. He didn't want Legolas to be any closer than he had to. A separating distance of seven to ten feet seemed to be the optimum. However, that would never make a battle and Legolas knew it. True, his body was definitely not in the most favourable condition for hand-to-hand combat, but he didn't have much other choice besides running and that would never do.

Rushing forward with a strangled cry, Legolas attacked the human, not much caring for how his fighting style looked at the moment. Suddenly he was forced to up his weapon as a shield when Ceorl's sword flashed through the air intending to split his skull. It was then Legolas knew why Ceorl had survived as long as he had. The man might be stupid and unpredictably lucky, but he was also a strangely talented fighter, something Legolas had suspected from the first time he had been taken off-guard by the man.

But the shaft of the spear was not enough to impede the oncoming sword and the blade still severed the wood as though it was made of butter or perhaps something softer. Legolas barely had time to jerk aside to avoid having his head split in half. But he couldn't move his body in time and the sharp edged metal sliced into the skin of his shoulder, forcing a surprised scream from the Elf as it was removed.

Blood spread quickly from the deep wound and Legolas swayed on his feet, dizzy with pain and blood loss. Dark blotches seeped into his vision, impeding on what fighting skills he was still capable of using.

Ceorl grinned, looking happily at the silvery blood that painted his sword. "Your day to die, Elf." Obviously he had decided to forget getting any money for the prince. He simply wanted him dead and out of the way.

Legolas staggered back, barely able to hear as the rushing sound of blood pulsed in his ears and he tightened his grip on the head of the spear, prepared to use it as a knife. "Humans…always so sure of themselves…." He spat the taunt as the slur it was meant to be.

Ceorl came at him, sword raised but Legolas was faster despite his wounds and the moment the man hefted his arms and exposed a clear route to his chest the Elf tightened his grip on his spear tip and drove it with all the force he could muster into the centre of the human's ribcage.

For a moment Ceorl held the sword still aloft over his head and then his fingers relinquished their hold on the weapon, allowing it to slide free and fall, narrowly missing skinning the side of Legolas' face. Legolas removed the spear tip with a harsh jerk, and watched as blood foamed in the corners of the man's mouth.

Stiffly the Elf back stepped as the human toppled to the ground, landing on his knees, staring up at Legolas with cloudy eyes. His fingers still groped for the sword, but Legolas stepped on it, glowering back down at the man with eyes so cold and merciless that Ceorl could think of nothing else but his impending death.

Tossing the spear tip aside in disdain, Legolas picked up the man's sword and looked it over, staring detachedly at the copious amount of his own blood that coated it. He had not realized that he had been drained so. Suddenly his eyes fixed on the kneeling human and he spat, "Maybe long ago you were good, I don't care." He twirled the sword in his hands and smiled as it smoothly moved, making a slight swishing noise. "This is a good sword."

"Master Elf, you wouldn't kill a helpless man, would you?" Ceorl's voice as cracked in pain and Legolas frowned.

"No. I wouldn't. However, someone who single-handedly caused buckets of innocent blood to be spilled, tormented me and my friend, probably murdered my friend and escaped certain death at the hands of those he betrayed isn't exactly someone I would call helpless, would you?" The prince's eyes had turned emotionless, absent of everything, especially mercy. It wasn't that he wasn't merciful to those who deserved it and while it was true, he could let this human live, that wouldn't be a mercy to everyone else.

Legolas' chest was heaving from the exertion of fighting with his wounds and his feet were growing more and more unsteady as he lost more and more blood. Raising the blade, he stared into Ceorl's eyes and he drew it back and then ran it through the man's chest for a second time, splitting his heart and killing him on the spot. The human said no more, he couldn't, he was dead.

Legolas wrenched the blade free as Ceorl fell to the ground on his back, staggering backward with the effort and then he landed hard against the ground, sprawling out on his back. The blood from his shoulder wound turned the grass a crimson colour to match the dawn sky and he gasped as he realized how horribly tired he was and how much everything really did hurt. The adrenaline in his body had slowed down considerably and was leaving him with the after-effects of pain and exhaustion.

Normally he would have smiled in satisfaction but he was too tired and there was nothing to really smile about anyway. As his fingers uncurled from around the hilt of the sword and it slid free of his grasp he could feel his body shaking with relief and the remnant of the adrenaline.

Staring up at the sky, he tried to contact Aragorn telepathically by means of their strange connection. /_I am safe. I killed him…I am coming_/. But the connection was broken and there was no answer.

The blood continued to flow from his wound, and the red dawn sky wheeled overhead. As he lay on the ground, receiving no response from Aragorn, Legolas tried again and again, desperate that he should make some contact, even though he knew that by all standards, Aragorn should be dead. His chest was still heaving and rolling over onto his side to prop himself up on his good arm, Legolas prepared to try and rise.

A grimace wrinkled his fair face as pain blossomed from his ribs, which he had forgotten about in the heat of battle. Now he felt like he had been crunched by an obese oliphaunt and breathing almost became a voluntary response as the pain threatened to shut down his body. Collapsing back against the ground, so that this time he was on his stomach, the prince closed his eyes, just for a moment to gather himself together, but he found that they had become leaden and against his will, they involuntarily closed and refused to open.

His breathing, though still erratic, became softer and shallower. Stretching out one hand, the Elf clawed at the grasses in an attempt to drag his failing body forward, in the direction he knew Aragorn would be if he crawled far enough and long enough. Unfortunately, the quickly dispensing blood flow from his coupled wounds had robbed him of much of his strength and his body trembled before he found himself immobile.

The early sounds of morning faded.

Legolas suspected he had only blacked out a couple moments, because the sky still appeared the same and it was still early morning. There it was again. Something was nudging against the side of his face, blowing hot air into his blinking eyes. Legolas rolled onto his back with a moan as his shoulder screamed and found himself staring up at Ceorl's horse, who apparently hadn't left when his master had died as most horses might have. Legolas smiled painfully as he had a suspicion that the horse had stayed for him.

It snorted in frustration and pawed the earth around the Elf like an anxious dog, whose master has fallen asleep. Legolas started to involuntarily close his eyes again, which only sent the mare into a new round of fits. She stamped her foot right by his ear, obviously knowing where he registered sound and where it would be the most difficult to ignore. "Estel…" Legolas murmured, delirium beginning to set in as the adrenaline left him.

He had not remembered Estel to be this heavy sounding or this…hairy, but he didn't remember too much right now, did he? Whatever this creature was…it was just as obnoxious as Estel; that was for sure.

The horse hit him in the face again with her velvety nose, stubbornly refusing to leave him alone. Her acute senses as an animal told her that if he stayed here, then he would die. However, her abrupt nudge had infuriated some of the abrasions and hot bruises on the Elf's face. "No," Legolas' voice sounded almost childlike, as though he was frightened of the dark. "Let me be…" His delirium made him believe that he was being interrogated again and he knew he could not live through something like that again.

Finally, unperturbed by the writhing and moaning of the Elf, the horse dropped to her knees by his side, providing him warmth and easier access to her back should he chose to accept the proffered ride. Legolas looked at her with glazed eyes and then winced as the sunlight scorched his sensitive orbs. He knew that he needed to get up, knew that he needed to escape from here, knew that Aragorn needed him. But his befuddled mind could not piece together much else and reaching a trembling hand towards the horse, he stroked the animal's travel dirtied pelt. The horse nickered softly in encouragement, pleased to see the Elf extending even this much effort.

Grasping her tangled mane, he pulled himself up a little, so that he was hunched over his knees with one arm on her shoulders. She turned around and rammed his side with her nose in support, not understanding his injuries and realizing that she was only causing him more pain. Legolas grimaced and cried out softly between clenched teeth at the rough and repeated touch. Fire burned beneath his ribs.

He felt a small sense of confusing accomplishment when he managed to drag himself halfway up on the animal. She began to stand up and the familiar movement of a horse moving caused Legolas' almost involuntary riding instincts to kick in gear and the rest of him to mount the animal.

She stood and swung her head around as though to make sure her passenger was fully on her back and prepared for the ride ahead. Satisfied, she snorted softly to herself and set off at an even pace that was somewhere between slow and fast. However, her footfalls were incredibly smooth for a horse of her mixed breeding and Legolas was jolted very little.

The motion of riding a horse had awakened some of the Elf's senses and even as his head bowed against her mane and neck, he murmured gently in appreciation, "_Hannon le_."

Nausea roiled in his stomach at the looping motion of her strides.

Then his forehead connected with her neck and as he watched the ground blur under her nimbly moving hooves, his leaden eye lids slid over his orbs and he was lost to darkness a second time.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn groaned. He could hear raised voices and a heavy sense of panic seemed to have fallen over the camp as they realized that Thengel and his riders had them cornered, surrounded and effectively defeated. This battle was going to be over before it started, but the battle was not the part that they feared, it was what happened afterwards. They had been responsible for the killing of many men and the invasion of orcs. To expect mercy would be ridiculous.

Aragorn, however, had no idea about this. All he knew was that for some strange reason he was not dead, and had not bled out. His body was still convulsing and if he could be on fire and be alive at the same time, then he would believe that was what he was experiencing now. It felt as though his blood was not merely blood, but fire. Lifting his head, he blinked as the rising sun smashed its rays into his eyes.

Not understanding what was causing the pain, but knowing that something definitely was, Aragorn mentally searched himself and drew on recent memories. Looking over to his right, he as about to ask Legolas why he was hurting so much, but he discovered the Elf was not there; the space was occupied only by air. Suddenly, memories surged back, almost giving him a headache as he recalled what had transpired early that morning.

Looking at the wound in his side, he noticed detachedly that his body's involuntary healing capabilities had already started their work, and the laceration was no longer bleeding as heavily. Or, he mused darkly, that could be because there wasn't much blood left to escape. Either way, he hoped that it would eventually stop altogether.

Leaning his head back against the post, he gasped as he drew a deep breath, provoking his ribs and injuries. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he clamped his eyes tightly shut against the pain.

Moments later he heard footsteps stop in front of him and he carefully cracked an eye open, trying to assess whether they meant harm, or whether they had good intentions. Unable to tell by merely looking at them, he decided that it wasn't worth the effort, since there was nothing that he could do to prevent their actions for good or evil by looking at them, and he his eyes slid shut.

"Ceorl may have abandoned us, but we can look after ourselves," one voice suggested angrily. "The Elf isn't here, but they hold this one dear too by all accounts I have heard, and I've heard quite a lot." His assertion was obviously about Aragorn.

"You are an idiot!" another voice chastised with open scorn. "As if we aren't in enough trouble, let's add hostage-taking to the list!" His bitter sarcasm made a good point and for a moment it seemed like his fellows might listen.

"They are going to kill us anyway! _You're _the idiot!" snarled the other. The beautiful morning was obviously not reflected in their moods, and with good reason. "Think about it! We allowed, nay, encouraged the travelling of orcs, through his majesty's land unchecked and they spilled gallons of innocent blood! Do you expect the king will show us mercy? Contrary to what Ceorl has said, I do not think Thengel is that stupid!"

Aragorn groaned, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. Licking his chaffed lips, he swallowed down the fear that was weighting down his stomach, making him seem like he would sink through the earth. Shuddering, he couldn't help but feel cold.

"It just isn't right…"

"Is anything else that we have done?"

"No. but…"

"If you are too much of a coward to save your own skin, that's your problem, but don't tell me how to go about saving mine!" the other voice hissed defensively. "Now if you aren't going to help, then get out of the way!" There was a shuffling sound and it was evident that he had given his companion a forceful shove. There was no retaliation and Aragorn opened one eye as a dark blonde man crouched by him.

"I am not going to help you," he managed out, mentally kicking himself as his voice cracked.

"Not willingly, no," the man agreed. "But through you, we will be helped."

Aragorn did his best to acquire a defiant, dark glare, but he was too weak and it ended up looking like more than half a grimace. Looking around the other man, so that he could see the horizon, Aragorn could see some of Thengel's riders outlined by the sky on the hill's crest. He couldn't see the others, but he knew they were there, spread out around them.

Vaguely, he became aware that his bonds around his ankles and his hands were being cut and that hot blood was surging back into his appendages that had long been destitute of the life-giving substance. The tingling sensation quickly multiplied through out his hands and feet before morphing into a tortuous, but at the same time relieving, throb. The air smarted against the exposed, raw skin of his wrists, making him wince as the man hauled him to his feet, preparing to take him somewhere.

Aragorn put up a fight, though it was short lived and wasn't anything near threatening. At the most it only aggravated his captor who hissed angrily, "You are in absolutely no position to be fighting with me, so if I were you, I would stop, because you might not be able to live through the consequences."

Like Legolas, Aragorn didn't take kindly to threats, especially if they were meant to keep him subdued, but in the state he was in, he accepted this one as simply good advice. His struggles ceased and the rest of the time carrying him was rather easy because he had lost a good deal of his weight. As a matter of fact, he was bordering a bit too closely to anorexia and if give the opportunity he wouldn't doubt that Legolas would attempt to force-feed him.

He tried to stay awake as he was being transported somewhere in the camp, but the darkness that was clinging to his vision refused to be shaken and in fact, continued to grow. It was slowly closing the circle of clear eyesight that he had left and blinking only seemed to make it worse. Gradually the blackness claimed dominion over his senses and the sounds of the bustling, panicked camp faded and Aragorn knew no more.

:0Ї0:

Legolas didn't know what had happened and certainly not how. All he knew was that his pain had just redoubled and that he could feel grass beneath him. Somehow, he had a suspicion that the grass had absorbed a portion of his…fall? Yes, he had fallen, but from what? His mind felt like a patched up pair of well-worn boots, there were places where he was unravelling and everything was a blur.

Curling in on himself as he lay on the ground, Legolas tried to retain some warmth. His body had lost a lot of heat with his rapidly fleeing blood and even though the bleeding had slowed down now, so that it was almost non-existent, his body was still having trouble rebuilding and maintaining a half-normal temperature. If he were a human he would be in danger of a light case of hypothermia, despite the fact that it wasn't even cold outside.

Shirtless, Legolas wasn't able to preserve much heat and he shivered involuntarily, and worked on making himself into as tight a ball as possible. But his battered, bleeding body was slow to react to his brain's confused commands and his muscles were stiff without the normal amount of blood to nourish them. Sighing, Legolas resigned himself to merely laying there, his arms crossed against his chest and his knees drawn in as closely as he could bring himself to drag them in his wearied state. His hands balled into fists as a wave of pain broke over him, threatening to pull him under the surface of consciousness again.

The prince coughed a little as he gagged in agony.

As a matter of fact, it was by sheer will that he was remaining conscious at all. Aragorn was out there, alive or dead, but he was out there and Legolas didn't mean to draw his last breath or give up until he had the human back. Draining his strength but not caring, Legolas tried to use the telepathic connection between himself and Aragorn to see how the human was faring, but either it was broken or he didn't possess enough strength to wield it. Legolas wasn't sure which, but he decided that it was probably a mixture of both.

However, he tried again, determined to get through. /_Estel, please answer me! Where are you?_/ A throbbing sensation started between his temples before it escalated in sharp pain, like knife work between his eyes, and he curled into himself tighter as a feeling of nausea broke over him and the pain wracking his skull grew to unbearable levels. There was no doubt in Legolas' mind that the connection between himself and his best friend was severed and that this horrible, pulsing pain was the whiplash effect.

For the first time in his life, Legolas prayed that he was weak, that the loss of the connection was his fault, because it was too much for him to handle. But despair tugged at his heart as he realized that there was little chance of that. He had seen the knife slice into his friend and he had seen the blood squirt out, blossoming on his side. Shuddering, Legolas wished he could erase the pained look on Aragorn's face and the man's pained whimpers from his mind but the cry continued to ghost through his thoughts.

His hand slowly sought the wound on his shoulder as it became even more painful and he felt the warm blood spreading over his body. Clasping his hand over the laceration in an attempt to alleviate his pain, Legolas slowly applied pressure with his palm, but it was to no avail and the blood leaked between his fingers.

Unable to lie here as he remembered all the laughs that he and Aragorn had shared and all the pain they had shared, Legolas couldn't allow that they die this far apart. Besides, Aragorn couldn't die. He had a destiny and Legolas had a promise to keep. He had never broken a promise and there was nothing here that was persuading him to start now.

Reaching a trembling hand forward, his fingers curled around a cluster of long, dead grass and constricted until they were white knuckled. Using what strength he was still capable of, the Elf dragged himself forward a couple inches, grimacing as his cut and battered body crept across the rough grass. The blades rubbed against his lacerations and abrasions, making them smart and begin to bleed again, staining the grass a dark crimson and leaving a short scarlet trail.

Shuddering as the pain caused his muscles to convulse; the battered Elf clawed himself along for another few inches. But that was as far as he could drag himself. The throbbing pain between his temples had exploded into all-out vertigo and his body was refusing to respond and began to loosen its tense muscles, going limp in exhaustion. Stinging tears began to prick under the prince's eyelids as frustration built within him at his own weakness, but at first he was too proud to let them escape and so he clamped the orbs shut, his face crumpling in pain and anger.

Eventually, against his will, a single tear squeezed out and slid down his pale, trembling cheek, clearing a path through the grime and gore that had stained it these past few days. Legolas lifted his head and scrubbed his eyes against his outstretched arm, wiping away the moisture as his proud cheeks flushed in shame and hurt.

Rolling slowly onto his back so he wouldn't incite his wounds to further agony, the Elf watched the crimson sky as it seemed to whirl overhead, like a swirling mass of blood and sunlight mingled together. Blinking, Legolas tried to will everything to stop spinning but the pain in his head only increased and closing his eyes, he realized that it was less painful if he couldn't see the bright light and the colours. Blackness, nothingness...it soothed and the Elf felt a strangely calming sensation of floating, floating, floating...

**TBC...**

**Oops. Ouch. Gee...** -_glances over chapter-_ **Ummm...yeah, this looked like a good place to end it at the time...I mean, Aragorn and Leoglas had to suffer, shouldn't you guys? By the way...what happened to Aragorn? **_-nudges ranger with boot toe- _**He doesn't appear to very lively, does he? **

**Hey! We did one nice thing for them both! Ceorl is DEAD! Muahahaha...our muse decided that he had been around far too long... **

**Please review! We love hearing from all of you and the reviews last time were just awesome! Thanks a lot! Hopefully you uys got the responses...**


	9. Would You Mind if I Bared My Soul?

_I Will Always Return_

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER NINE**

Would You Mind if I Bared My Soul?

:0Ї0:

Roth was riding ahead of Elrohir, unable to contain himself as he knew that there was a chance that he could free Legolas, if only he could reach the prince in time. Everything depended on timing. Scowling in determination as he slowed his mount to an agreeable walk, he chanced an impatient glance over his shoulder to see how Elrohir's progress was coming along. The Noldo was not far behind, and he returned Roth's inquisitive look with an irritated glare.

Suddenly his glare melted away and he sat up straighter than he had ever since he was first wounded. At first Roth had thought that he had upset the other Elf but when Elrohir's eyes looked past him, he saw that it was not so and he turned slowly, half-expecting to see a gigantic warg ready to jump down his throat. His expectancies were disappointed when only a lone horse came plodding towards them, its head hung low as though it was the most depressed creature ever brought into existence. Frowning in mild confusion, he looked back at Elrohir, who was already starting forward, his normally flawless forehead scrunched in thought.

Not to be outdone, or look like a fool, Roth straightened himself on his horse and heeled the animal into a trot, going to intercept the lone horse that seemed to be walking towards him, unfazed. It seemed as though it wanted to greet them.

Upon closer inspection, the Elf's sharp eyes noticed the Rohirrim saddle and the intricate bridle on the creature's beautiful face.

He intercepted the animal within minutes and it allowed him to nab its bridle without protest, probably halfway hoping to get the piece of metal taken out as a reward for its good deed. It snorted and flicked it ears as Roth stroked its face calmingly. His hands were gentle and soothing to the animal as they undid the straps of the bridle and slid it free of the slender, long face.

"Is this the horse that you saw?" Roth questioned Elrohir softly, still stroking the animal's face and head to ensure that it would stick around.

Elrohir assessed the animal's build and nodded after a moment in confirmation. "Yes, that's the one. It appears she has lost her burdens." His voice trailed off as he wondered what that might mean under these circumstances. But no –he wouldn't think about the darker meanings. Legolas could be alive. He could have escaped. He was, after all, a very resourceful and bold Elf.

"Yes," Roth looked at her bitterly. "It looks as though she has." His agreement was deadpanned, his voice bled white of emotion. His hands fell limply from her face to his sides and he sighed and shook his head.

Elrohir apprised him gently. "Roth, don't talk like that. You'll call it down on us, for Elbereth's sake!" The last thing that they needed to do was speak the worst fate possible into existence.

Roth stared at the horse for a moment, as though trying to decide what should be done. "Maybe she can lead us to Legolas. He probably is hurt and needs our help."

The suggestion was met with a dubious look from Elrohir, who raised two sculpted brows in unspoken appraisal. "I realize your desperation, but Roth…it's a _horse_," he finished in exasperation and disbelief. He didn't lack a respect for horses, but he doubted that the animal was conscious about who they were looking for and even more doubtful that it would be able to trace its trail back supposing that it knew where Legolas was.

"Yes, but when you can come up with something better, then let me know. I promise to give you my undivided attention." Roth's sarcasm had more of a bite than he had intended but he wasn't in the mood to take it back. He knew that Elrohir had a good point, but there was precious little left to go on besides trusting the beast and as a matter of fact, besides wasting valuable time searching, there were no other alternatives.

Elrohir cast him a scathing glare and then frowned. "All right, I consent. We can try. But what if we are wrong? And what is this animal's pace anyway?" Looking at the horse scrupulously, the Elf obviously had already made up his mind that it wasn't the fastest animal on earth. The mare suddenly popped her head up, shook her lengthy, but scraggly mane, and snorted, jerking her head up and down defensively.

Roth scrunched his face and shook his head at Elrohir in a chiding gesture. "I don't think she likes you very much."

Elrohir chose to ignore the comment; using selective hearing… something Dwarves thought was another talent the Elves' possessed. Roth noticed, but said nothing. There was no time and even if there was, this pointless bickering was just ridiculous.

Elrohir brought up one more question, with his voice bordering on condescending. "How exactly do you follow a horse? How do you tell them we are ready to go?"

Roth half-winced/half-shrugged, his wound protested the nonchalant gesture, and he locked hazel eyes with Elrohir's grey ones before looking at the beast that looked eager to prove its capabilities. The warrior was at a loss for answers. "Turn her loose? Start moving first, ourselves?"

Elrohir found himself at a loss as well and so there was nothing left but to experiment and find out what worked and what did not.

But the horse did not need much encouragement and as soon as she saw them start moving she trotted ahead, flaring her tail out behind her like a brown, rippling banner of many strands of tattered fabric. Elrohir scowled and looked sidelong at Roth, trying not to smile despite the dark circumstances, but losing the battle. "Congratulations Roth, you got her to move, now can you explain her that she needs to wait for us?"

The warrior frowned and was quick to chastise. "She is fine. I don't think she is going anywhere without us." But Elrohir noticed that Roth sped up the pace of his own horse with his heels, and the Son of Elrond smiled.

But when Roth looked over a few moments later, Elrohir's face was crestfallen, and his eyes were clamped shut as he bowed his head. Anxious, Roth inquired. "Is it your wound?" Elrohir shook his head and then straightened up, trying to mask his emotions. He shouldn't have concerned Roth; the other Elf already had enough troubles without this one being added. "It's your brother, is it not?" Roth's voice had sunk below a whisper, but Elrohir still managed to catch enough of what he said to understand the question.

There was no use denying it or lying, which would only stress the warrior out even more. Roth had such a freely giving and sweet nature that to have anyone else hurting gave him hurt caused by sympathy. "Yes, it is." Sighing, he shook his head remorsefully. "I should have never entrusted him into anyone's care but my own. He doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing and I, well, I let him down."

Roth was about to venture a response, when there was a distraction caused by the end of the mare's motion. She stood perfectly still bent over something that was not discernable yet. Whatever it was had been obscured by her billowing tail and the bulk of her body that stood directly above it, casting it into shadow.

Elrohir was grateful for the reprieve from Roth's interrogation, but at the same time terrified more than death of what they would find. The sprawled figure was unmoving in the sweeping grasses that were crushed about it in a fanned pattern, but the closer they got, the more obvious it became that the form was either a human or an Elf.

Roth didn't wait for his horse to stop before throwing himself nimbly from its back in one fluent motion and stumbling over to where the mare guarded the prone body of the being that he now recognized without a shadow of a doubt as Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, Son of Thranduil, Grandson of Orophir. Gently guiding the mare away and thanking her liberally, Roth quickly returned to Legolas' side, where Elrohir was already crouched, grave concern etched into his typically timeless features.

The first thing that either of them noticed was the copious amounts of blood that had dried or was drying along the prince's shoulder, originating from a deep laceration that had laid the joint open to the bone. Grabbing Legolas' outstretched hand to check his vital signs, Roth jerked back, releasing the appendage with surprise. Legolas' hand fell to the spongy grass and Roth gapped at the red liquid coating his own hand.

Elrohir immediately took note of what had happened and fearing that Legolas had slit his wrist by mistake or out of despair, he grabbed the prince's bloody hand and turned it palm upwards, supinating it. The supple skin of his wrist was completely intact except for some nasty rope burns and scrapes that had taken off the first layer and left purple welts in their wake.

It was the palm that was leaking all the blood from the appendages. A deep cut zigzagged across the soft skin and it looked ugly. Biting his lip, Elrohir then moved to check his pulse, using the side of the Elf's neck and pressing his fingers against the clammy flesh. The dancing pulse was weak and erratic and could give out any second under his gentle touch. Afraid of the thought, he recoiled and rocked back on his heels to assess the situation and Legolas' condition from a bit of a distance.

Roth had a green tint discolouring his face and he looked like he was going to faint at any given second as he saw what he had feared all along. "Is he…he…dead?" his voice squeezed off as he had trouble imagining a life without his best friend and sworn brother. How could he possibly return home and say explain to Lord Thranduil that his only son was dead?

Elrohir shook his head, "Not yet. His heart is going too fast and isn't steady enough." He looked pointedly at Legolas' lips, that were almost white. If they couldn't staunch the bleeding and provide the prince with some warmth he would surely die a quick death.

Roth's chin quivered and he sucked in a guttural, shuddering breath. His eyes fell on Legolas' bruised and battered frame and the strange, intricate marks, three of them, that were inflamed on his abdomen and obviously burns. The prince was thinner than when they had last seen him and his beautiful, long hair was sawed short. His fair face was smeared with darkened, dried blood and abrasions with a deep purple bruise from repeated abuse. He couldn't understand how Legolas would let anyone do this to him unless he was brutally restrained. Rothinzil knew that Legolas must have fought and fought and incensed his captors to accumulate this many welts and abrasions.

Elrohir had already removed his cloak and was pressing it to Legolas' shoulder wound. The prince's eyes fluttered open at the shocking pain the pressure caused and he attempted to struggle free of Elrohir's gentle, but firm grip. Unable to do so because of his blood loss and exhaustion, Legolas submitted to whoever was restraining him and whimpered slightly as the full pain broke over him.

He didn't look up at his captor, preferring that his tormentor remain faceless. It was easier then somehow and this last struggle with Ceorl and this continual struggle with death itself were draining his body of every scrap of energy. He didn't possess the strength to fight anymore.

When Rothinzil's hands gently began to stroke his face, Legolas shut his eyes tightly and twisted away in his delirium, thinking the worst possible torment ever was about to be forced upon him. He didn't say anything, because he had nothing to say to this man, and he would rather take everything in silence. However, his breathing sped up and he stretched an arm out from where it had been pinned against Elrohir's chest, grabbing at the grass in an attempt to pull away. He would never forgive himself if he didn't resist.

Elrohir gently attempted to sooth the prince and he murmured, "You are safe. It is I, Elrohir. Legolas, shhhhhhh…"

"Thorongil…" Legolas cried out softly, sounding a bit strangled, and his blue eyes swirled around looking feverishly for his friend amongst the four different faces he saw. Oddly enough, he thought he saw two sets of twins. One was recognizable, but the other was not.

"We will get him, Legolas. Now stop struggling, you foolish Wood-Elf," the younger twin chastised calmly, continuing to apply pressure to the prince's wound. He then directed Roth to bind the prince's lacerated hand and bring the bleeding to a close.

Legolas turned his face into Elrohir's tunic and hid it, feeling the proximity of his friend. A feeling of relief broke over him and he started shaking uncontrollably. As a lucid train of thought began to return to him, he broke down, remembering Aragorn. Seeing blood on himself and on Elrohir, leaving dark red stains and a sickening smell, he panicked. There was still a part of his reason that was fogged up and dysfunctional in the lingering confusion and it was out of his control. "A-A-Aragorn! A-A-A-Aragorn's b-b-b-b-blood-d!

Elrohir looked at Roth, who was finishing up wrapping the prince's hand. The warrior stared at his liege and then back at Elrohir, not understanding Legolas' reaction. Elrohir felt Legolas' sobs against his chest and he cradled the Wood-Elf closer against him as he sought to slow and ultimately stop the perpetual bleeding. While he did this, he tried to think things through. Time to think, however, was a luxury that he didn't have.

Legolas resisted with his arms, unwilling to rest while Aragorn was out there, somewhere, dying. His addled mind could not comprehend that he was in no condition to be attempting any such efforts. All he could think about was that when he had left Aragorn, the man had been dying and the light in his eyes had been fading, making them look lifeless. He had remembered the knife and the blood and the way Aragorn had cried out as the weapon sliced through his skin. "Let me go!" he demanded frantically, trying to wriggle free of Elrohir in a fit of hysteria. "He needs me, let me go!"

Legolas desperately tried to touch Aragorn's consciousness with his own mind, but the bond had remained void and he could sense nothing. This didn't exactly serve to help as he strove to break away from his friends, whose only desire was to help him. His fear for Aragorn had taken an unreasonable turn that knew no rationalities as it mingled with the pain and weakness of his own deplorable state.

Nothing that Elrohir or Roth said for ten minutes could assuage the panic of the prince, no matter how much they tried to rationalize and explain things to him in patient tones of voice. It was like trying to comfort a half-wakened child from a nightmare in the middle of the night.

Finally, when his spent body could fight no more, he ceased his frantic struggles and merely broke down in Elrohir's arms. There was a time when he would have never done this, and would have bottled everything up inside, but his first experience with true war among mortals had taught him that even the strongest cried at some point or another and that keeping everything buried only caused deeper wounds that were harder to reach and to heal. Elrohir felt his tunic growing moist with is friend's tears and frowned sadly, and held the prince against him. Cautiously lifting the cloak that he had pressed against Legolas' wound, he was satisfied to see that the bleeding had stopped and what the wound needed now was a strong set of stitches.

Fortunately, before taking on this venture after patching themselves up, he had had the good sense to pack more supplies into his pack and to be prepared for practically anything that medical aid could cure. Directing Rothinzil, he charged the warrior to support Legolas while he rummaged through his pack for the necessary materials. Legolas didn't even seem to notice the change and he clung to his other friend as an Elfling might cling to his parents. The prince still found no comfort and his sobs alleviated as he quickly became too tired to cry. However, he was too fatigued to sleep, so he lay in Roth's arms quietly, not even shivering. His ear was pressed up against the warrior's chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart, the song of life.

Elrohir laid out all the provisions that he would need and then instructed Roth to lay the prince out on the cloak in the grass. Legolas' bruise mottled skin was already covered in blood, both dried and fresh, so getting any more on him wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, Elrohir didn't want the grass to interfere with what he was about to do. Selecting a needle and some thread, he moved so he was kneeled by Legolas' face.

Talking to Legolas, but informing Rothinzil at the same time, he explained, "Legolas you have taken grievous hurt and it cannot go untreated. You have lost a fair amount of blood as well. I must apply stitches and suture your wound. Do you understand?" He wasn't sure what Legolas' limits of comprehension were right now and the last thing any of them needed was Legolas throwing himself into a panic and flailing his arms all over.

The Wood-Elf seemed to understand and he nodded in compliance, closing his eyes against the twinges of pain that he knew were coming.

Elrohir looked to Roth sternly. "Keep him still. If he moves he will hurt himself." Legolas heard these words and was determined not to be restrained. He would control himself or no one would. After these past few days in captivity and the cruelties of Harad, he had become even more determined to be his own master whenever possible. Even though he trusted his friends, they simply wouldn't understand.

He could easily hold himself immobile during the cleansing of his wound with herbs. That was easy, because Aragorn had done it often enough.

When Elrohir had threaded the needle and began his administrations, Legolas didn't move except to flinch slightly as the needle pricked his skin and weaved skilfully in and out. It was slowly closing the red, burning gap in his flesh and as it did, Legolas felt the pain lessen and become more comfortable. His shock was gradually ebbing away, but he didn't relax. He had not forgotten Aragorn and the memory was like an open wound that was impossible to close.

Soon the procedure was finished and Elrohir pulled Roth back, giving Legolas his space. Legolas lay there quietly for a couple seconds, observing things and making sure that the process was truly over. Satisfied, he sat up, experimentally putting pressure on his arm. He found that it was not as instable as before even if it still throbbed. Already his strength was beginning to return, but his Elven healing capabilities were still dogged by his weariness and the constant abuse he had been subjected to.

Feeling confident enough, Legolas stumbled to his feet only to find that everything seemed to sway and shift beneath him and around him. It was as though the world was tilting and spinning even as he was standing completely still. His feet were unsteady and he stumbled, only saved from a fall by Elrohir's outstretched arm. "Take it easy," the twin advised critically, eyeing the prince sternly. He knew Legolas' stubborn nature very well, and he wasn't about to let the prince hurt himself.

Legolas accepted the help of his friends while he tried to steady himself. Once he was steady on his own two feet, he demanded a bit grumpily that they release him. Now that he was more conscious of the situation and feeling stronger and less ill, he was ready to kick himself for ever readily showing so much weakness as he had up until a few minutes ago.

He then studied Elrohir and Roth for a minute, trying to remember something. Realizing why he was puzzled, the fair-haired Elf appraised, "I was told that you both were shot." His eyes narrowed as his face scrunched up in suspicion. Realizing suddenly that Elladan was not accompanying them; he felt panic creeping over him again. "And Elladan…is he…"

"No. He is back at camp recovering," Elrohir assured, having not realized the fright he had probably caused the prince at the notice of his brother's absence.

"And, yes, we were shot, but we are patched up now," Roth added, trying to take the edge off of some of Legolas' worries. "Nothing vital was hit, I can assure you."

Legolas was beginning to shake but mentally demanded more of his body, putting an end to the tremors. Forcing his limbs to comply, he started towards the horse that had formerly belonged to Ceorl, preparing to ride. They had had already run out of time to reach Aragorn. The human had been stabbed and as far as Legolas knew, the wound was fatal.

Elrohir intercepted Legolas in a few strides and then demanded. "Where is Ceorl? Where is the man that did this to you?" His arm tightened almost painfully on Legolas' as his emotions transferred into his strength and pinched the other Elf. He had not thought to ask the human's whereabouts earlier, having been too worried for his friend's life, but now that there was a little more control over things he wanted an answer. He should know, after all, the location of such a formidable adversary. Legolas tried to pull away from the added pain and Elrohir quickly released his grip, having not meant to add to Legolas' pain-filled state.

Legolas' face twisted in thought. His head still hurt and it was hard to pull memories forward. "He is dead." His reply was deadpanned, holding no emotion good or bad for his former tormentor and would-be killer.

Elrohir stared at him for a moment before sighing with a small amount of relief. That was one less enemy to worry about. How he died mattered not, as long as he presented no further danger. "It is well."

Legolas shook his head and started towards the horse again, only to be stopped by both of the dark-haired Elves this time. "Take it easy," Elrohir warned a second time, this time with a bit more tenacity.

"We cannot!" Legolas snapped desperately, trying to side step his rescuers, but failing. "He _stabbed_ him! He was dying when I left…whether he is alive now… We cannot afford to wait!"

Legolas had not easily broken the news to the two Elves and the colour drained from both of their faces, but only Elrohir appeared like he was going to be sick. His complexion took on an unhealthy green shade. Legolas regretted being so abrupt but what else was he supposed to do? They had to understand, and they had not listened earlier. He had been left with precious little options.

Legolas wasted no time, but forced his ailing body to carry him to the horse he had been forced to ride out on earlier. The bridle was missing from where Roth had removed it, but because Legolas was an Elf, it mattered little, if at all. He wasn't able to make his usual showy mount but he dragged himself up onto the saddle all the same, patting the creature's neck reassuringly.

Elrohir glared at him determinedly. "You think that you are going to ride alone? Are you mad?" Distress had twisted his voice into a sharp hiss, giving it more of a bite than he had originally intended.

"I don't expect you to carry me-" Legolas' sardonic protest was cut off with a sharp gesture from the anxious twin. He was obviously not in a listening mood and had momentarily turned his back on the prince while he gathered his emotions. Legolas remained silent, not wanting to start a distracting conflict.

"Legolas Greenleaf Thranduillion!" Elrohir finally barked the name out as he spun back around; making sure that he had the prince's undivided attention. "You are not riding a horse by yourself! You could fall and break your neck if you blacked out! Need I remind you of how much blood you have lost?" This was a lecture that resembled one that he would have expected to give to Aragorn in his younger years, not a two-thousand and some odd years old Elf-prince!

Legolas narrowed his eyes, his princely glare slowly regaining its former potency, though still not up to parity. His blue eyes bored into Elrohir, almost burning through the twin. "Elrohir, we don't have time for this! I am perfectly capable of remaining on a horse!"

"I will believe that when I see it! You get down _now_, and I _mean_ it," he commanded out of habit of ordering Estel around.

Legolas might have complied, had Elrohir's demand not sounded like the order that it was. That was the wrong way to get his acquiescence and Elrohir knew it even before the words had left his mouth. "Then I suggest that you watch closely, mount your horses and get moving! We – Don't – Have – Time," he said, emphasising each word, which seemed to be effective. Roth had submitted to the will of his liege a minute or two back and was shifting uncomfortably.

Elrohir glared and his mouth tightened, but he gathered up his things from his pack and mounted his horse. Rothinzil followed his example. Arguing was a pointless venture.

Legolas had already to begun to ride out, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that they were following. Satisfied, he looked down at the horse's neck. As his hands rested on the horse's mane, he noticed they trembled and looked so much thinner than before –almost lucent. Silently he prayed that he would be given enough strength to merely rescue his friend and then, after Aragorn was safe, he could die if that was how things had to be. He just wanted a little more time, just a little more time.

:0Ї0:

Elladan had regained a portion of his former strength, just enough to make him stubborn. He still could not travel or even stand for long periods of time, but he liked to try. He couldn't stop thinking about Elrohir, or Rothinzil, or Aragorn or Legolas and it was eating him that he could not be at their sides, fighting with them. Chances were that they all sported some injury or another and he didn't appreciate the idea of letting them do this by themselves.

He had given up trying to sleep. Their faces, white and ghastly in death, woke his dreams and he couldn't escape the horrible visions of them. It was easier if he was awake and could reason with himself and remember the good things instead of dreading the worst. But even when he was awake, he still would see them when ever he closed his eyes or whenever the pain of his wound sent him into a state that bordered on delirium.

Even though Elladan simply couldn't resign himself to seeing their ghastly faces, he couldn't escape them either. He was caught somewhere in between in a place that he was beginning to wonder if it could possibly be one of the seven hells, or some sort of extension of them.

The boy often tried to stay out of his way, a bit fearful now that the Elf appeared to be on the road to recovery. If at all possible, he kept the room between himself and the older twin. When Elladan would scowl in deep thought, the youth even appeared to try and dissolve into the sides of the tent. Elladan had thought this amusing the first time, out of some twisted sense of humour attributed to his wicked mood.

Sitting on his pallet he could lay still for long, and this was anything but healthy for his injury. If he wasn't tossing and turning he was sitting up or leaning on the tent pole attempting to stand up and pace the room. Even though Elves recuperated ten times faster than any human with the possible exception of Aragorn, Elladan had taken grievous hurt and it wasn't likely he would be fully recovered for a few months to possibly a year. His experience in the healing arts told him this, but then protective, brotherly part of his reasoning only considered it to be an obstacle to his job, and therefore, ignorable.

Well, it would have been ignorable if it didn't sap his strength to stand up for more than four minutes, or take a battering ram to his chest to breathe too deeply. Lately, as of a few hours ago, his left side had started this strange, pulsating throb that had absolutely nothing to do with his injury. Unable to explain it, he was beginning to wonder if there had been a hidden poison in the arrow that Elrohir had removed. The younger twin should have known how to look for such venoms and been fully aware, but he couldn't be too sure.

Placing his head in his hands, he massaged his temples in an attempt to ease his dizziness, but with no affect. Looking between his fingers, he chanced a glance at the boy. A small smile pulled at his lips' corners. The child was sitting in the corner asleep with his head of dirty blonde hair leaning against one of the corner posts. His breathing was coming in slow breaths and Elladan was reminded of when Estel would sleep in his father's study.

Grabbing the tent post with one hand, Elladan winced as the stretching of his arm shot pain across his chest and caused stars to whirl into his line of vision. Coughing as his lungs were upset by the wracking pain, Elladan struggled to stand up for about the fifth time. His entire body was shaking and he was helpless to make it stop. His muscles were convulsing as they were forced to try and flex.

Finally, after a few failed attempts, he had managed to pull himself up into a crippled standing position. The room was swirling in odd, warped shapes and his hand subconsciously was laid over the arrow wound, trying to assuage the pain and support the injury. His mouth was open and he was gulping air.

The ground was getting closer, and closer, but he couldn't seem to piece together why. Then, his knees hit the pallet and his hand slid down the post as his body crumpled over his knees. Abandoning his hold on the tent post, Elladan crossed his arms under his stomach and whimpered in horrible pain as well as despair.

He was heartbroken. He had tried and tried to get to his brothers, or at least walk on his own and he simply could not bring his broken body to respond properly. Fresh blood blossomed in the centre of his bandage that swathed his chest, and began to slowly spread. He did nothing to prevent the flow, his strength bleeding out with it.

Remaining doubled over, Elladan didn't even consider laying onto his back. His thoughts were not on himself, but of what would happen to his brothers and friends without him there. If they were killed, he would never forgive himself for not being with them.

He had to try one more time…

:0Ї0:

Hot agony rushed through his thoughts, and his body shuddered unchecked as Aragorn no longer had the strength to control his tremors or his pain. He was neither unconscious nor conscious. The two had sort of made a truce and merged together and in doing so created a waking nightmare. Voices were slurred and everybody seemed to be speaking some unintelligible language that had never been in any of Elrond books. Images, sounds and feelings faded in and out into varieties of intensities.

Unable to sort all this out, Aragorn had given up trying as he had discovered that it only drained more energy and that it was so much easier to submit. Legolas would understand…would understand…once he explained to the Elf that he was so very tired…yes, so very tired. Blinking seemed to require an extraordinary effort and so if at all possible, he kept his eyes closed. His chin hung against his heaving chest where his heart beat erratically, struggling to maintain a strong enough beat to keep him alive.

At first he had thought that he was flying, or at least found the secret to levitation, but had soon discovered that he couldn't move his arms. They were somewhere behind him, but were completely immobile. Some rough, biting material was tearing at his wrists and he couldn't seem to recall that he possessed a pair of hands. He certainly didn't feel them there.

His feet he could feel, but he might as well have not because they refused to move as well. His body had slowed itself down and started to close down certain parts to try and maintain enough energy to keep his vital organs operational. Voluntary commands that were unessential to life ceased to be recognized and therefore keeping any bonds on the dying ranger were unnecessary.

The men, though, were hardly interested in Aragorn at all. They only needed him for a little while and whether he lived or died afterward was of little concern to them. They had never meant to end up in a situation like this one. They would not have even followed Ceorl but for the promise that this very thing would not happen. Success had been promised to them laid out on a silver platter, but they were fast beginning to understand that Ceorl's definition of success had to differ greatly with theirs. The platter it had been served on had turned out to be made of no more than steel, not silver, and tarnished steel at that. It had quickly lost its appeal and now they were desperate to escape by any means necessary.

It had been easy for them to decide that their lives far outweighed Aragorn's and had dragged Aragorn out into the open, where Thengel and his Riders would easily be able to identify him as well as witness what was happening. It was a clear message that it they were not released, then Aragorn would pay the ultimate price.

But what they overestimated was the amount of time that they had to strike a desirable bargain. Aragorn's body was rapidly failing him and given a few more hours he would die and there was nothing that they could do about it. It was beyond their expertise as warriors. Even if one of them had experience in the healing arts, there was a heavy lack of supplies and no way to relay any through. Thengel had them sealed in.

The ranger's face was not only pale and nearly translucent, but it had acquired a sickly hue of green. Not enough blood was circulating throughout his body as his heart laboured. Blood covered his left side, but there was no perspiration on his body. He didn't have enough water. Most of his body liquids had drained away with his life's blood, and the state of dehydration that he had entered would kill him if nothing else did.

If his captors had possessed more sense or less self-intent, they could have cured him of at least that ailment, but they hardly cared.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Aragorn opened his eyes and looked blearily around his surroundings. He couldn't understand where he was and he could feel a sense of panic, but it wasn't registering. "L-L-Legolassss?" his plea for his friend was slurred and beneath the pitch of a whisper. Nobody could hear him. "L-L-Legolasss?" his voice became choked as memories progressively floated through his mind.

He had failed the Elf. Legolas would be sold to this man…Sharky…and tormented until he became the thing he hated most. Only the Valar knew what cursed machines and devices they would have to use to force Legolas into compliance. The prince could be very stubborn, but Aragorn knew that there were ways of breaking him and he was terrified of what they would do to his friend. Legolas would die before he allowed himself to become an orc, but it was what would kill him that the ranger feared.

His eyes throbbed with the starving for tears that they were incapable of creating in his dehydrated state as he thought of Legolas dying alone, terrified, and in horrible pain. He had promised Legolas that he would get them both safely home and he lay here, dying while Legolas was suffering a worse fate.

Voices spoke again nearby and he blinked, raising his head to look and see what was happening. There was yelling, frequent yelling back and forth and Aragorn couldn't understand a word of it. Moaning, he blinked tiredly and allowed his head to slip back down to his chest, too tired to hold it up anymore. Somehow, holding it up made breathing difficult and it made his heart work harder.

Then, a voice nearby, obviously muttering to someone standing nearby became semi-intelligible. "He is dying. He isn't going to live through this hour."

This was the first thing that anyone of his captors had said that Aragorn had agreed with. He was going to die, but he had accepted that. He had never feared death and he wasn't going to start now. Frowning, he wondered what the chances of he and Legolas meeting again were. He had never said farewell to the Wood-Elf and he dearly wished that he could tell the prince exactly how much his friendship had meant. Legolas had always claimed to know, but Aragorn doubted that he could ever truly appreciate it the way he thought he did. Aragorn had always expected Elladan and Elrohir to be there for him, but for Legolas, an Elf with no reason to love him as brother, to open up his doors, was unthinkably generous. Aragorn's chest hurt as he remembered how Legolas had even been perfectly willing to give up his immortal life if it had meant that he could live despite the fact that Aragorn would eventually die anyway.

Smiling in memory, he recalled how Legolas had made one desperate attempt to save him before being dragged away. He doubted that the prince had even once considered the consequences.

In Harad, through they both had been captured. Aragorn had eventually been freed by Legolas, as had been the Elf's first intention, though it had cost the prince dearly. Aragorn wished that he had been able to reciprocate the Elf's efforts when his turn rolled around, but he had not.

There was more yelling back and forth but Aragorn still could not discern any words. As a matter of fact, his senses, such as hearing and feeling, seemed to be fading. It was like going deaf, blind and dumb all at once as his body continued to shut down any process that was not essential to life preservation. It only possessed the energy for so much.

:0Ї0:

Legolas blinked wearily, his body was continuing to send him distress signals, but his determination and their frequency had made him immune to their effects. He knew that they were there, but his body made no response to their request that he rest and allow himself to replenish his diminishing strength. His head kept pitching forward against his chest and he would bring it up with a jerk.

Roth didn't miss the constant struggles to remain conscious or awake. His worried eyes scrupulously studied his prince with mounting concern. He had known that the blood loss and lack of sleep had not been a good combination. "Legolas, are you all right?"

Legolas was quiet for a minute, using that time to focus his bleary eyes on his friend. They didn't have time or energy to waste through argument and he was in no position to be deceptive. A drunken spider could see his deplorable condition all of it's thousands of eyes poked out but one. "No, I fear that I am not. We cannot stop here, though."

Roth watched his liege for a few more seconds before averting his eyes. "You know that I am going to kill you when this is all over, don't you?"

"If I survive this, of course you will, and Elrohir as well as my father would probably love to help." It was hard to prevent his words from slurring together. The bobbing of the horse's head and the rhythm of beast's loop was lulling the beaten Elf into a slumber. His head felt light, like it was detached and hovering somewhere above his shoulders. Blinking, he tried to maintain eye contact with the warrior.

Elrohir had passed them some time ago, his horse at a gallop. It had been understood that rather than forcing Legolas off of the horse or slowing their pace, one of them would fall back and make sure that he didn't hurt himself. This task had unofficially been placed on Roth's shoulders, and he had accepted it willingly.

Fearing that Legolas actually could die, Roth swallowed and cleared his throat, preparing to speak. There were some things that Legolas needed to know. "Your father loves you still, Legolas. All has been amiss since you left. He has missed you, as have others. He wouldn't choke you, unless it is in his efforts to bury you in an embrace of affection."

With a small frown, Legolas moved to spur his horse and catch up with Elrohir. He wanted to end this conversation. Roth's concern was appreciated, but misplaced. Legolas knew his father still loved him, but he was afraid to go back home nonetheless. It wasn't rejection that he feared, though that had been his first dread. Legolas feared having to face what harm he had done and all the turmoil he had inadvertently caused. He knew his absence had not done any good but he was afraid it had done plenty of evil.

Roth reached out and grabbed his horse's manes, halting them both. "Look, are you going to be all right? You look like you are ready to faint." His voice was laced with concern and he reached a hand out, gently placing it on Legolas' good shoulder in a form of consolation. He wanted to provide the prince with reassurance, but he didn't know how.

Legolas smiled weakly, trying to belie his weakness as well as assure the warrior. "Ask me that question after we get through with this and the answer may change, but as of right now, I think I will manage."

Roth returned the smile, but he had not missed how his friend's body was still trembling. Legolas was slowly losing control over his body's nervous systems, but he would never admit it, even if he were on his deathbed. "Just take it easy. If you need help-"

"You will be right there. I know. You sound like Estel." As soon as those words left Legolas' mouth a cloud seemed to darken his face. Turning away, he fought to keep his emotions constrained. There might be no more Estel.

The smile on Rothinzil's face turned upside down in a frown and he tightened his grip on Legolas' good shoulder. "We will get him back. If that ranger is half as hard-headed as I think he is, and then trust me, he will be there; ready to ask why we took so long."

Legolas wished that he could believe his friend. He was so tired and frustrated and hurt so much that he was almost ready to believe anything. However, Rothinzil's statement contradicted reality and the way things really seemed to work. Inside, he believed that Aragorn could face anything but life had found a way of testing everything that he had ever believed in these past few years. Shaking his head jadedly, he differed, "Everyone has a breaking point, Roth." Looking ahead, he chastised himself. "We had best catch up. Elrohir will be worried." Legolas could not verify his suspicion, but he suspected that Elrohir had felt some bond that he and Estel shared, sever, or at least weaken to almost non-existant.

Roth conceded. "He has enough to worry about already." Before spurring his horse or releasing Legolas shoulder, the other Elf reprimanded. "Just promise me that you will look after yourself. I just got you back, Legolas." Roth looked sorrowfully at his friend. "Promise me."

Legolas didn't want to make a promise that he could break. A broken promise, intentional or not, could do more damage than never saying anything at all. "I promise that I will do my best." The prince didn't understand how Roth could ask more of him than that.

The warrior didn't disappoint him. "_Hannon le_."

The two then spurred their horses forward and caught up with Elrohir, who had slowed his horse ahead with his form silhouetted against the pale sky. The youngest twin heard them approach and twisted his neck around to acknowledge them and assess how Legolas was faring. He knew Legolas' stubborn personality well enough to understand that the prince could hide the most extensive injury with a bleeding smile and seem totally surprised when someone asked why he looked so sickly. However, for the moment, even if he wasn't completely satisfied, Elrohir was pleased that Legolas had not blacked out and dropped off his horse yet. He had expected him to long before now.

Turning his attention back to the land spread out before him, Elrohir focused his eyes on the ring of Riders that had encircled the couple hundred treasonous men. Sighing, he wondered why they had not engaged them and finished everything. Something was holding them back and he had a sinking suspicion that he knew exactly what. Feeling unwell, he closed his eyes shortly to try and fight the dark nausea swarming in his stomach.

Legolas and Roth flanked either side of him and soaked in the situation with a single glance at the layout of the siege. "Estel is still alive," Roth murmured quietly, surprised. He glanced sidelong across Elrohir, towards Legolas. The prince looked positively ill.

Elrohir felt the waves of a sort of dark energy coming from the friends and he looked at Legolas, who he was sure was the source. Scrutinizing the fair-haired Elf, he assured, "It was _never_ your fault _mellon nîn_."

Legolas didn't say anything for a minute and everything seemed unnaturally quiet. "Why couldn't we have just gone home?" He didn't understand how their intentions to merely go home, embrace their family and all that they had left behind, had gone so astray. Things had seemed so simple, but he supposed that when you broke them down and digested them they were actually quite complex. Survival was never easy and if everything was simple then things would be rather boring, but in his opinion he had gotten more than his fair share of excitement these past few years.

Elrohir had given his attention back to the fallout being played out below them, of which everyone looked like toy soldiers being manipulated on a game board. Somewhere down there, Estel was caught up in this madness but even his keen Elven eyes could not pick out the man and his anxiety was spiking. Fear was wrapping its icy tendrils around his heart, and constricting to strangle it. He couldn't even feel his little brother like a burning in his veins anymore, like he could still feel Elladan. Looking at Legolas, he asked worriedly, "What do your eyes see?"

Legolas shaded his eyes with his slender hand that was still trembling in weakness. Staring intently, the Elf narrowed his eyes as he tried to pinpoint Aragorn's whereabouts. But his vision was blurred by a mixture of tears and weariness and things tended to slide in and out of place in a very confusing way. Angry, Legolas tried harder, but the more he tried the more frustrated he became as his vision deteriorated. The amount of injury and blood loss combined with little rest that he had been subjected to in this short amount of time was lowering the potency of his Elven senses and dulling them. It was a bit frightening and Legolas was glad that this was only temporary. He would never understand how Aragorn could stand this, unless if it was perhaps because the human had never known better. Biting his lip until he tasted a coppery tendril of blood, Legolas admitted. "He is not within my range of vision either." He had underestimated how badly these words would burn and stick in his throat and the Elf swallowed compulsively trying to choke back tears of frustration.

Roth tried as a last resort, but he could not see Aragorn either. He could make out individual people, but Aragorn was swallowed up in their midst…or simply not there. Shaking his head, Roth felt a stab of guilt when he heard Elrohir sigh miserably. "I am sorry," he tried to make amends for his deficiency. Elrohir shook his head to silence him.

"'Tis not your fault."

Roth didn't agree, but he knew that arguing was a futile venture and he shut his mouth. Turning his face away and directing his attention to the clustered men below them and the surrounding, found an escape. Likewise, Elrohir knew that it was absolutely no use to try and convince Roth that the error was by no means his own. He looked to inspect Legolas' condition and discovered that the prince was looking sickly green.

"What are we to do, then?" Legolas asked softly, shifting uneasily under the scrutinizing eyes of his friend. He appreciated the concern, but he didn't wish to be coddled or taken lightly. Sitting up straighter, he tried to make himself look a bit more presentable and lift his own spirits.

Elrohir didn't answer. He didn't like to admit that he couldn't do something or that he didn't have all the answers. Granted, he had already gone ahead and admitted that Estel had passed beyond his vision, but he didn't want to say that he didn't know where to go from here. He wanted to be able to assure everyone and put their anxieties to rest but this action was inhibited and was burning him from the inside out.

Legolas sighed wistfully. "You don't know either." It was not a question. Tilting his head to the side, as though looking at the scene splayed out beneath them at a different angle might bring new ideas, Legolas thought hard for a few minutes. Sitting up straight again, the prince frowned. "He could still be alive. What else is there to do but simply go and fetch him?"

Elrohir blinked before giving Legolas a forbidding glare. "Legolas, I am honoured that you value my pest of a brother so highly, but I don't believe walking into about two hundred spears being held by two hundred angry, frightened men that you only just recently eluded has been one of your more brilliant suggestions as of late. Do you?" There had to be another way than sending Legolas or any of them into that little valley that was close enough to being a point of no return.

Legolas had to admit to himself that it was a rather stupid plan of action but there were not that many options and even less time than when they had had none some hours ago. Shaking his head, triggering a light headache, the Wood-Elf argued. "He did no less for me. Valar knew that he was well aware that he would get captured." Thinking further Legolas added, "He told me as much himself. Are you asking me to do less?"

Elrohir's grey eyes turned steely. "I am asking you not to get yourself killed. Blessed Manwë! You blasted Silvan Elf!" He burst out loud, not caring who overheard. "Roth, Elladan and I only just got you back! Are you asking us to lose both you _and _Estel? Your wounds won't even permit this, Legolas! You look like a herd of irate Oliphaunt's used you as their door mat for a couple weeks!"

"And I can't accept it, Legolas!" Roth put in helpfully. He didn't intend to rebel against any orders his prince would give, but Legolas had not set anything in stone, even though he might as well have.

Legolas lashed out at his Woodland friend. He didn't want to feel protected; he just wanted to get Aragorn and himself through this. "You keep your two bit's worth to yourself, Rothinzil or as sure as Ulmo can stir the waters to wrath I will have you home and packing! Valar as my witness!" His voice squeezed off at the end as he realized what he was saying. Normally he wouldn't have been so harsh, knowing that his friends only had his best interest in mind, but his fear of losing Estel and going home without him had pushed him over the edge. In Elrohir's as well as Rothinzil's mind, their friend had changed and they were both a bit startled.

But Rothinzil didn't look wounded. His eyes had turned stormy. "You wouldn't!"

Legolas threatened, "I would." His voice was deadpanned as his couldn't find the heart to even pretend to send his friends away. "I am going to go down there and bring him up to you."

"No, we are going to bring him up together," Elrohir argued stubbornly. If he couldn't stop Legolas from walking into his death, then he could at least accompany him there. Roth's agreement went without words even though he didn't look the least bit ecstatic.

Legolas was beginning to look irate. "At least one of us three has to go and tell Thengel not to attack while we are there. Otherwise none of us, especially Estel, are going to get out of there alive."

"If we can convince them that they will be granted clemency, then not only could it win them over to Thegnel's side or at least calm them and give us a chance, it could heal things. They are only fighting because they believe that they are going to die for their trespasses." Elrohir tried to speak reason into the desperate situation. They had to have a plan to present to the men unless they wished to be killed out of hand. Irrational desperation could only bring them so far.

Legolas didn't say anything against Elrohir's proposal. The twin was right, after all. But the flame burning in the fair-haired Elf's blue eyes was unmistakable to a blind man. Legolas was by no means angry with his friends anymore, even if he was frustrated with them. However, he would rather that these two hundred traitors that had caused him so much misery did not live to see another day. If they all died here it wouldn't bother him in the least. His heart was not cooled as he remembered the abuse and rejection of the boy who had been so kind to him and been sent to his death.

Elrohir had his father's talent for reading eyes and hearts.

He rationalized, "Legolas, they weren't responsible for all that happened to you and Estel. Ceorl was, as well as Deor, and they both have paid."

The fire in Legolas' eyes didn't lessen any and in fact, became more virulent if it undertook any change at all. "They weren't responsible?" he seethed bitterly, as he drew a shuddering breath. "They are just as responsible! There are more of them than two tyrannical leaders! If they had cared, they could have put an end to everything! Ceorl and Deor would have been nothing if it weren't for those who chose to follow!"

Elrohir conceded with a nod. "But why did they follow them, Legolas? Fear can rule lives. The truly bad ones will meet their equally bad end some day. It isn't our responsibility to deal it out to them."

Legolas' voice turned dangerous and his body trembled as his weakness combined with his fury. "I will not advocate the sparing of their lives! You didn't see what they have done! You cannot ever know even a tenth of it and you ask me to grant them mercy and forgiveness that they never asked for!" He and Estel had been tortured at the hands of these people and the ranger's cries still ghosted, resounding throughout his mind. There was nothing that could ever erase those from the caverns where they had been stored in the back of his mind.

"Would you advocate it to save Estel's life?" Elrohir ground out a bit too fiercely. He understood Legolas' resentment and frustrations all too well. To be honest he felt them too. He would have liked nothing better than to unsheathe his sword and run every last one of those hapless men through without a bit of remorse. But this would solve nothing and if anything, it could make things much worse. Thengel would be seen as a tyrant and that would never do if they wished for things to smooth over. He also didn't want to cause more trouble between Elves and men. "Too much innocent blood has been spilled by their hands. Need the ground be further saturated if it can be prevented?"

Legolas looked as though he was about to make a heated retort, but his lips pressed into a thin line as he paused to take in all Elrohir had said. He couldn't argue with any of it. It had felt so satisfying to remain angry and he had to admit that he had partially been strengthened by his anger. He had never considered that the very thing that had fuelled him could interfere with saving his best friend's life. "Your point is well taken Elrohir." The frustration and anger had bled out of the prince's voice, making it lose its sharp edge. "Forgive me, both of you?"

Elrohir smiled warmly, accepting his friend as he always had and Roth grinned encouragingly. "I would if there was something to forgive, Legolas." Elrohir's voice was sympathetic. "Your pain and anger is understandable. But they will answer for all of their deeds some day."

"Yes," Roth advocated, shooting a grin across him to his liege. Despite the gravity of the situation, both of their smiles were genuine and Legolas thanked them for that. The warmth of their trust in him and their understanding added lift to his burdened heart, something that he had desperately needed these past few days. The situation had not become any less dark but it had become slightly easier to bear.

Forgetting their short-lived quarrel in almost no time at all, the three Elves were soon in making preparations for recovering Estel from the traitors' midst. Although, this had started another heated debate over how much of a role should be required of Legolas. His strength was visibly meagre and even though some of it had been recovered as an end was put to his blood loss, Rothinzil was desperate not to let the prince press himself too much. But Elrohir and Rothinzil's arguments combined could not deter Legolas from being one of the two that would enter the middle of the traitors' throng and collect Aragorn. Elrohir, of course, was going to be accompanying Legolas since Estel was _his_ brother and it was his responsibility to get him back. Elladan would kill him if he didn't manage to bring the human home, disregarding the poor shape the ranger would probably be in.

"Roth, that leaves you." Legolas eyed the warrior carefully, already knowing what Roth's reaction would be. He knew that Rothinzil didn't like men and on top of asking him to fraternize with people that he hardly knew, Legolas was asking him to leave his side. There was simply no way plausible that this could go over well. Despite all of this, Legolas expected Rothinzil's reluctant compliance. Things had turned desperate a _long time ago. _

Roth knew what his prince expected and the reasons why, which was the only reason he obeyed. Had it been any one else with any other intentions, he would have flat-out refused and be unmoved by any attempts to persuade him otherwise. Legolas was different and their mutual respect for each other ran deep, as did his respect for Elrohir. "You both had better be careful," he cautioned as a manner of good-bye.

Suddenly, it had somehow occurred to the warrior that he may never see either of them again unless they were on a burial pyre. Guiding his horse between his two best friends, he leaned over and gave them each a hug in turn, starting with Legolas. Legolas held him for a minute before whispering softly in his ear. "You know that I will be returning, with Elrohir and Estel in tow."

"I know." As Roth broke the embrace, he felt Legolas' body trembling and took in how pale and drawn his face was. The prince had to be miserable. It looked almost as though he had been bled white. As a departing jest, the warrior teased. "If we are lucky they will think it is your ghost returned to haunt them."

Legolas forced a light chuckle that actually hurt his chest. He carefully masked his pain and tried to play along. "We can only hope."

Roth an Elrohir hugged without any words until after the embrace was broken. "Look after Legolas?" Roth asked quietly, but he was sure that Legolas had still heard him and he chanced a glance over his shoulder. Legolas was staring accusingly at him with narrowed eyes, and Roth shook his head before turning his attention back to Elrohir. "You know how he is. And don't hurt yourself either. _I_ know how _you_ are."

Elrohir shook his head. "I will do what I can."

Roth smirked over his shoulder at Legolas before turning back to Elrohir. "That is all that I ask."

Legolas and Elrohir then parted with Roth and the warrior spurred his horse into a speedy gallop towards where he had estimated King Thengel and his men would be. Elrohir and Legolas didn't watch him leave. Time was too precious and the seconds were ticking by.

Starting without delay, the two Elves descended into the valley of little hills with their horses at a cautious loop that would discourage an immediate rise to arms. An even pace that gave the opponents a brief warning made them seem less imposing and it was less likely that they would be drawn upon.

When they passed unhindered by the few Riders of King Thengel that had been stationed at intervals in surrounding ring, the men looked at the Elves as though they were a bit insane. Legolas had to agree with their misgivings, but he suspected that it was by more than just a bit.

At the pace the two were riding it did not take them long before they found themselves threatened by a host of spears held by the traitors on the outmost part of the defensive mass that they had created. Legolas and Elrohir advanced on them a few more yards, until the spears' tips were tickling against their horses' chests and necks. The animals nickered and snorted anxiously, but obeyed their Elven masters unquestioningly, with ultimate trust in them.

Elrohir looked somewhat reasonable and sociable, as though he was capable of holding a civil conversation. Legolas, however, was a different matter. His blue eyes were darkened and swirled angrily as he looked at each face in turn. The men could not withstand the gaze of either of the Elves, but especially Legolas. They had not thought him to be dead exactly…but they had not held much hope for his survival.

The prince ignored the gawking faces of the mortals and began to search fervently for Aragorn among their faces. His breathing was uneven as his heart hammered against his chest and sweat started to glitter on his face and chest. He was more afraid of what he could not see and the possibilities of what he could find, than anything else. Putting forth as much of his strength as he was capable of without destroying himself, Legolas tried to formulate a message to send to Aragorn's subconscious, but with no success. The channels were not able to get enough strength to be used and Legolas abandoned the attempt. They had used them too much as it was and it was bit frightening that they had relied on them so much.

Elrohir could tell that Legolas was in no position to speak. The Elf-prince obviously didn't trust his own voice or preferred that Elrohir lead the negotiations. Either way, Elrohir picked up on the cue. "We have come here for one Thorongil, which we know is under your captivity. He is to be released and no harm shall come to you, if you repent of your deeds and use your arms in the name of Rohan's king."

There was a long silence of uncertainty. The air seemed to tingle with two different wills set against one another.

It was more than Legolas could bear. His face twisted into a snarl and he hissed threateningly. "Where is he? My patience grows thin!"

The men exchanged fearful and uncertain glances among themselves and then all glared at the two Elves. "How do we know that you will keep your word?" One of the bolder ones addressed Elrohir, who had named the terms. He eyed the dark-haired Elf as though the twin ate human every night for dinner and quite possibly breakfast.

Legolas could tell that Elrohir was already exasperated. "We can give you no assurance other than our word, now if you aren't going to show us to him, step aside and let us pass."

When the men didn't step aside, Elrohir set his jaw. However, Legolas wasn't about to wait for them and he moved his horse forward, advancing into them. Three spears supported by others immediately tickled against his throat, stretched up by their bearers to try and deter the angered prince. "Don't move," snarled one human menacingly. Turning his glare from Legolas, the man spat at Elrohir. "Either of you."

Elrohir looked disapprovingly at Legolas, but the prince turned his face away to level the deterring humans with a scathing glower. He wasn't going to parley with these humans any longer since they obviously were in no more of a sociable mind than he was. Pressing forward some more, Legolas snapped his head around to darken his scowl at a single man. "I warned you, Elf. Don't move!"

Elrohir could have slapped his forehead with frustration. However, leaving his brother behind wasn't an option and so he followed Legolas' example. The men that had confronted him during his first attempt to come forward countered his new movement with their spears, forcing him to stop of skewer himself and his horse. Legolas was stopped with the same actions, and these negotiations –if they could be called negotiations -seemed to be getting them nowhere.

Elrohir had heard and seen enough. "Let us pass! We grow tired of asking you!" His voice bore the authority that had so often been heard in his father's, causing the men to flinch and recoil a few steps. A quiet murmur ran through their numbers as they began to second-guess their decision to inhibit the Elves from their aim. It was obvious that they both were hurt to some degree, one more than the other, but both still seemed perfectly capable of dealing out death in droves.

Simultaneously, the decision was made to give the Elves their space and let them find the ranger. It wouldn't be a bad idea to add the Elves to the list of hostages. After all, should Thorongil die, they needed some other bargaining chips, and as far as they were concerned, either of the Elves was expendable if Thengel was still indisposed to come and consort with them.

Legolas and Elrohir exchanged suspicious expressions before starting forward through the parting men. They had a feeling that the sudden compliance of the humans had been bought with a high cost, but they would deal with that when they finally found Aragorn. Not heeding the cruel and angry looks the men shot at them, the Elves shouldered their way through, weaving between men in their desperate search.

It didn't take them long to find the ranger and the condition he was in made Elrohir freeze in mid-step while fury bled into his paled features, giving them a touch of red. The man's back and arms were the first thing that he saw –and all the blood. The welts were extensive and the bruises were already livid and darkened to black in places. Their placement above some of his lower ribs made the twin's blood pressure raise another notch as a realized that at least one or two ribs were broken. Aragorn was doubled over and it took Elrohir a moment to remember to breathe and sidestep around the human to see his face.

Legolas was already crouched before the ranger, his trembling and bloodied hands bracketing the human's bruised face. The man's face was white and clammy. His eyes were closed tightly and his chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid heaves. Feeling someone touching his face, he tried to withdraw but was too weak. Legolas choked up, his throat constricting painfully. "Estel," he cast aside Aragorn's pseudo name. He didn't care about it anymore. "Please, friend, please answer me! I am begging you!" Legolas' entire body was shaking uncontrollably and he fell to his knees in front of his friend.

Aragorn didn't respond for a moment and Legolas and Elrohir both feared that he was too far gone. Suddenly he moaned softly and his eyes slowly cracked open. He blinked in surprise as he saw Legolas' concerned, pale face, staring at his own. The Elf's eyes were wide, but flooded with a strange relief. How did Legolas get here? "Leg'las?" he finally managed after a couple tries. His speech was slurred, but still intelligible to the Mirkwood-Prince. "W-W-W-W-W-Where are…w-w-w-w-we?" Were they dead? He had seen the Elf being dragged away and by all standards, Aragorn knew that he should be a dead man.

"Still in Rohan, _mellon nîn_," Legolas informed sadly before reluctantly giving Elrohir space to collapse on his knees before his brother. The dark-haired Elf's face was now stark white and his hands trembled as they reached to hold themselves over Aragorn's gaping wound.

Leoglas' voice sounded garbled and unreal as it resounded in the human's ears. It didn't sound like it should belong to the Elf at all and Aragorn closed his eyes again as another spasm of pain ran through his body. Shivering in agony, he bowed his head a little closer to the ground and it slipped from Legolas' fingers.

Elrohir placed his hands firmly on Aragorn's shoulders, steadying the ranger who gasped at the touch. Some of the twin's fingers had inadvertently brushed against some of his welts and bruises. Elrohir quickly adjusted his grip to a more bearable position.

Elrohir had been taught that hating people was wrong, and that it only bred evil inside of you. But he was sorely tempted to push aside his father's teachings. He didn't want to hate, but feeling Aragorn's life slipping between his fingers like smoke and seeing the human's arms bound tightly behind his back with unreasonably as well as unnecessary cords burned hotly in his heart and soul. "Oh _gwador nîn_, I am so sorry," he murmured around his tightened throat. His mouth had gone dry and he bowed his head, resting it gently against the crown of Aragorn's. He had only just gotten Aragorn back and he didn't want to have to say farewell so soon. He wouldn't say farewell so soon.

Pulling a knife from his belt, Elrohir was not repressed by the surrounding men as he sliced through Estel's bonds with a soft _snick_, allowing the human's arms to slide to his sides. Legolas kept a vigil, ready to fight any interference to lessen Aragorn's agonies. He was too unsteady to help calm the ranger, but he could certainly keep others from impeding on Elrohir's efforts to save the man's life. His blue eyes were swirling dark with passionate anger.

Aragorn's hands went instinctively to his wound and clasped immovably over it, blocking Elrohir's view of the laceration. It had stopped bleeding but it was evident that the ranger was fighting the shock that had already starting shutting down his system. He needed warmth and ten blankets at least. He needed a throng of highly trained healers. He needed his _Ada_.

Elrohir helped the man spread out on his back, smoothing his hair away from his face. Aragorn made no sound until Elrohir tried to move his hands from his wound. A low moan forced itself past the man's pale lips and Elrohir flinched in quiet sympathy, almost recoiling to give the man his space. Legolas had scooted closer to his friends and he stared at Aragorn's face.

Elrohir looked at Legolas firmly, but pleadingly. "I need you to hold his hands. Gently, but hold them please. I can't have him interfering. I have to see what damage has been done. The fact that he isn't dead yet makes it a bit more hopeful but…" He trailed off, knowing that he didn't need to say anything else. Legolas obliged quickly, grasping Aragorn's blood-slicked hands in his own. Rubbing his thumbs on the back of the human's shaking hands, Legolas tried to soothe him and relax his muscles so that Elrohir would have an easier job inspecting the wound.

A few times to gentle probing from Elrohir caused the young human to hiss, flinch and try to jerk his hands free of Legolas'. Legolas grimaced, almost feeling Aragorn's pain channel through the man's hands and into his own. He hated restraining the man like this and he hated being so helpless in this situation. Despite the fact that they were able to attempt to treat Estel, they were still held captive, even if the surrounding men were not going to any great extent to remind them of it just yet.

Elrohir looked to Legolas and informed bitterly. "It is the shock that will kill him Legolas, and perhaps the blood loss." Shaking his head sadly, despair tugging at his heart, Elrohir felt sick as he saw his hands were slicked and stained ruby-red with Aragorn's blood. "Legolas, I need my supply bag, could you…?"

"Of course," the Wood-Elf reluctantly released Aragorn's hands, which instinctively moved towards his wound. The prince struggled to his feet, battling fatigue and light-headedness, and made a move to go towards the horses. He was forced to pause a couple of seconds until the horses and traitors' all stopped whirling around and merging in a swirl of rapid colour. Once everything looked and felt relatively stable and he thought he could trust his balance, Legolas started forward. A spear smacking across his already sore chest caused him to stiffen and stop. Two more spears criss-crossed in his path and Legolas' eyes smouldered with frustration. He may be feeling ill, but these men were making his demeanour and general temper worsen.

"Stand aside," he growled threateningly. His voice was hoarse from his torments and the men were disinclined to act in accordance with the Elf's demand. Legolas glared. "We are in no position to be fleeing anywhere! Do you honestly think I will leave my friends behind after risking my neck to be with them? I severely underestimated your intelligence, I suppose."

The scowls that pulled the long faces of the men to an even longer state made Legolas sigh inside. The Elf clenched his hands, feeling Aragorn's blood drying on them. His already depleting supply of patience was rapidly draining when one of the men asked, "What is it you want, Elf?"

"We need the medicine bag that is with our horses! Move aside so that I can fetch it! Don't force me to exert myself. I am already weary." Legolas' warning was completely serious and he started forward, expecting them to clear a path for him. There was no reason for them to hinder him, but that didn't appear to matter. The men held their ground, shoving Legolas' back with their crossed spears. Legolas had to extend a great effort not to stumble backwards in his leaden weariness. When he had steadied himself, he promised. "I am not leaving until those supplies are in my possession."

The men seemed to exchange irritated expressions before the one closest to Legolas sighed in frustration. Damned Elves, they didn't seem to understand when it would be to everyone's mutual benefit to stop. "We don't require you alive, Elf!" He suggested, removing his spear from the makeshift barrier and jabbing the point beneath the Elf's chin, tracing the prince's jugular.

Legolas raised a sculpted brow, unimpressed. Coolly, he responded. "No, you don't _need_ me alive, but it would better for you if you refrained from slaying me. Thengel's men could come in and wipe you all off the face of the earth and will if all three of us are not surrendered to our friend, who is waiting for us. If we are not returned to him, he is under orders to advocate your demise."

The men were not as unimpressed by Legolas' threats as Legolas had been by theirs. Fear and uncertainty lingered in their eyes and was so strong that the sensitive Elf could almost taste it, like an astringent tang in his mouth. "Elf, what makes you think that we care?"

"Besides the fact that you smell of fear and that you thought you had to secure three hostages to come out of this alive? Oh, I don't know." Legolas was mockingly nonchalant and smirked knowingly.

"Very well, _Elf_." The men allowed stiffly, not liking how this Elf had a knack for piercing through their facades and exposing every emotion. Grudgingly removing the spear barrier, they reluctantly allowed Legolas to pass. However, they didn't restrain themselves against trying to trip up the Elf's feet that were nearly weaving with weariness. Legolas narrowly missed an embarrassing stumble. Looking accusingly over his shoulder, Legolas snapped. "Do not try that again!" While his head was over his shoulder, the prince checked on Elrohir and Aragorn. Things didn't look much worse than before, but time was still precious.

Legolas continued unhindered to the saddle bags of Elrohir's horse. Fumbling with the straps in his haste, the Elf's nimble fingers seemed to be sluggish as he worked the clasps. Finally he managed to free it and promptly relayed it to its owner.

Elrohir fairly snatched it from his friend's hands, not meaning to be abrupt but understandably desperate. He didn't even bother to rummage through it, but poured the contents out onto the ground, rapidly sorting through it with his hands, tossing aside what could not be used in these circumstances. There were so many kinds of herbs and his vision was becoming blurred in panic.

Finally, he found the components that he sought. Legolas looked at him quizzically as he sectioned off the selected herbs from the others. Elrohir spoke as he started created the desired mixture. "He is still bleeding too much and his body is too tense. If he doesn't relax it will be that much harder to treat the shock. He is battling it now. Keep him warm Legolas. Talk to him, keep him awake. I need to blend together a sedative."

"But what if he doesn't wake up?" the prince asked apprehensively.

Elrohir sighed and fixed the Mirkwood prince with a firm but exhausted glower. "Legolas, _mellon nîn_, he is your friend, but I am his _brother._ I am looking out for his safety as much as you if not more."

Legolas just nodded, not meaning to insult Elrohir in anyway, but his hurting heart had learned to lean only on what he knew. Elrohir knew this and brushed off Legolas' anxious remark without any second thoughts. He was grateful for Legolas' companionship as well as his devoted friendship with Aragorn when all the ranger needed _was_ a friend. There was no way he could pay Legolas back for looking after Aragorn since they both had left and he was sure that the prince's protective nature had only managed to increase over the years.

Besides, Elrohir didn't plan to put Aragorn to sleep. He needed to be conscious. He just desired to soothe the human's pain and ease up the tension in his body so that his adrenaline would slow in its production.

Looking up momentarily from his work, he smiled inwardly as he saw Legolas gather the human up carefully in his arms. Holding him close, Legolas allowed the human's ear to settle against his chest as he let the ranger listen to his heartbeat. The speed of the Elf's heartbeat had evened out as much as was to be expected in these circumstances and even in his weakness had become stronger. "Do you remember how you climbed a tree and nearly broke your neck in Mirkwood during our first camping trip? All you wanted to see was the sunrise, because you said it wasn't dawn until the rays had splashed across your face. I forbade you to climb the tree but you didn't listen to me or your brothers…and have developed quite a habit of that ever since, actually."

Aragorn opened his eyes cautiously, staring up at Legolas' face. Legolas smiled down. "Tell me…" his voice was weak and his speech was still slurred in places. "How was it…that I nearly broke my neck…w-w-w-when you w-w-were the one w-w-w-who f-f-fell out of the t-tree?"

Legolas' weak smile faded a little. "You obviously need the story retold to you…I didn't fall, I jumped and you caused me to twist wrong…"

Actually, Aragorn remembered the story quite vividly, or would have if it wasn't for his failing senses, but it helped make him forget about his pain to hear Legolas' story as well as the prince's voice, even if it was scratchy. Settling more into the Elf's arms, he allowed the prince to depict the entire story as he saw it, leaving out the more humiliating parts, of course.

**TBC...**

**Well, I can only take literally five minutes to post this as I seemed to have contracted very detestible case of the flu coupled with a sinus infection. Even the "medication" causesaviolently sickstomach and such. As a result, I have not been able to contact Tinlaure and so the review reponses for chapter eight will have to be put on hold until I either: A. contact her and she can find time to do them, or B. I get better soon. I am terribly sorry, but that's the way the dice rolled. **

**However, we btoh still would love to hear from you and so if you find time, please drop a review! ;) They are very encouraging and each one makes us smile! **


	10. Remember You're Alive

_I Will Always Return_

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER TEN**

Remember ...You're Alive

It had been some hours since Elrohir had managed to concoct the correct formula to successfully slow Estel's body down and cause the tense muscles to relax. He had also managed to successfully find a way to staunch the severe bleeding of Aragorn's wound, but it still looked like the ranger had been bled white. However, sometime during this process the Elves' weapons had been confiscated and their supply bags plundered and taken as well. Neither of the Elves had been overly compliant but Elrohir had resisted the most and generally thrown a fit, which had truly been something to behold. He had been very close to getting his way too, but when Legolas had been wrenched away from Aragorn and a knife pressed against his throat, the twin had been forced to yield to the traitors' request or allow them to end his friend's life.

However, it had taken a little more encouragement to coerce the Elves into submitting themselves to tight cords that were wrapped around their wrists. Not being stupid, the men had forced the Elves' hands behind their backs, garnering quite a struggle out of Legolas, who was more than hesitant to be placed in bonds again and border on being helpless to himself and his friends. When the hemp was bound tightly around the raw and abraded skin of Legolas' healing wrists, Elrohir grimaced in sympathy as he heard a small hiss push past the prince's lips. The fair-haired Elf didn't flinch, but Elrohir could tell that he wanted to.

"That ought to hold you Elves!" One of the ruffians patted Legolas' cheek in a degrading way, causing the prince to pull roughly away in disgust. "Fancy meeting under these circumstances once more, Elf." He had remembered Ceorl's fair-haired captive all too well and a thrill of power swept through him as he realized that he had the valued prisoner in his clutches and that Ceorl was not available to interfere. If things had not been so dire, he might have taken advantage of this situation. Legolas remembered him too. This happened to be the same man, he realized, that thought some gentle laughter was a crime.

Legolas' eyes smouldered at the loathed touch, but he knew that either he or Elrohir were hardly in any position or health to be fighting. They needed to try and recover for Estel, who was so close to death's door, that Legolas could swear by all of the Valar that he actually felt the human fading. The way Aragorn's face was colourless and transparent, expressing the dark bruises even more against the pale skin, made death look vibrant.

The men would have no doubt liked to have taken out their frustrations on the Elves, especially Legolas, but time and plight did not permit it so they left all three captives to keep each other company with guards posted nearby.

Aragorn was lying on the ground, free of bonds and in an addled, drugged state. He had heard the struggle between the men and his brother, as well as with Legolas. As much as he wished he could, Aragorn simply could not deny that he was glad they had finally submitted. He didn't want either of them to receive more damage than they already had. Elrohir might not have known it, but the large patch of brown and dried blood on his shoulder had not been lost on the ranger. Not matter how much pain he had been in, he couldn't stop looking out for his brother, as he couldn't stop looking out for Legolas. He had seen the condition the Elf had been in and it had ranked below poor about ten abrasions back.

Blinking, he twisted his head to catch a glimpse of them once more. Elrohir was scooted close to Legolas, or vice versa and anger was evident on their ashen faces. Looking at their hands, since he had a sidelong view of them, he could tell the purplish discolouration in the appendages stemmed from lack of circulation.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn blocked the view of their misery. He hurt all over and he didn't want to have to fight the burning he felt in his heart when he saw Legolas' nearly mangled body. He didn't know how Legolas would recover, he just didn't. It was true that Elves were resilient but he knew that Legolas' old wounds had never fully healed and that these new ones that had been layered on top of the old ones were pushing the prince over the edge, whether Legolas would ever admit it or not.

Aragorn wanted to curl up, but he felt too weak to move at all and knew that whatever drug Elrohir had forced him to ingest had been potent, meaning that Elrohir was scared. When Elrohir was scared or felt like he was out of control of things he fell back onto his medicine capabilities in hopes that they would solve what he could not. Unfortunately, the combination of this medicine and the blood loss had made Aragorn very thirsty –nay, unbelievably thirsty. Turning his head away from them, he scanned the area groggily for any water, making up his mind that if he saw some, he would try to crawl towards it.

Elrohir had heard the grass crinkling under Aragorn's abrupt movements and he blinked, looking wearily at the ranger. Legolas, feeling Elrohir move next to him, followed the twin's anxious gaze to where Aragorn was lying.

When Aragorn turned his head again and focused his blurred vision, he saw them staring at him. Forcing a thin smile, he tried to encourage them, struggling to keep a small flame of hope glowing inside. Legolas looked as though he was death himself.

Since there was no one around to prevent them from keeping close together, Elrohir and Legolas crawled their way over to the man, flanking either side of him. Aragorn looked seriously up at Legolas. "You aren't going to leave me again, are you?"

Stunned by the question, even though he knew that he shouldn't be, Legolas couldn't answer for a minute. Elrohir glared at him, wondering why he wasn't speaking. "No," Legolas pushed his shock aside, blinking back tears. "Never."

Aragorn reached a hand out and gingerly touched Legolas' knee with his fingers, wanting to feel his friend close to make sure that he wasn't a phantom. Closing his eyes wearily, he semi-nodded. "It is well."

Elrohir and Legolas immediately shared alarm. The younger twin's voice pulled Aragorn out of what would have been a deep and impenetrable sleep. "You must stay awake, or I fear that you may never wake up."

Aragorn's leaden eyelids pulled back from his empty eyes and he blinked a couple of times. "Elrohir…" his breathed whine was almost childish in nature. "I am so very tired…"

Legolas looked at Elrohir only a moment before he scrutinized Estel's condition. "Would you like another story?" Legolas asked hopefully.

Aragorn stared blearily up at Elrohir and was about to ask for Elladan when suddenly he realized what he should have been aware of for a few hours now. Elladan was not here. His stomach lurched and he felt himself grow cold as fresh sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. "Where is Elladan?" he asked in a feverish whisper. His voice was thick with constricting fear. Elladan must not have overcome his wound when he was shot.

Elrohir quickly tried to put his brother's heart at ease. "Oh, no! Estel," he beseeched his human brother, "Elladan is alive! He will mend –slowly– but he will!"

Aragorn almost laughed with relief but breathing alone ached too much and he didn't think that he could gather up the strength to laugh anyway. "I would l-l-love to h-h-hear _that _story." He extended his other hand weakly for Elrohir's arm or knee, whichever was closer. Elrohir scooted himself closer.

"Then you shall hear it, if you promise me one thing."

Aragorn smiled, as sign of his compliance since he was too drained for much other motion.

"Promise me that will stay awake," Elrohir asked, forcing a small smile.

Legolas added a bit shakily, uncertainty lacing his voice. "Promise that you won't leave me."

Aragorn's sickly smile broadened slightly across his pasty face and he swallowed hard before speaking. "You need not bind me by a promise, Legolas." He echoed the Elf's earlier words, causing the prince grin.

"I know, but it comforts me."

Aragorn's gaze divided between the two anxious Elves and he vowed, "I p-promise I shall stay awake…" Despite the fact that he meant his promise with all his heart, it was going to be the most difficult one that he had ever had to keep in his life. He didn't want to tell his brother or Legolas, but it was getting to the point where sometimes if he didn't _remember_ to breathe, then he went without breath. The drugs given by Elrohir, though potent, had not been enough to drone out all of his agony and his abdomen still flared hotly with bright pain.

Elrohir started the tale before Estel had even seconds to be bored and possibly drone out. The story went without interruption, and intrigued Legolas as well. The telling of it took close to an hour, at least to thoroughly explain it.

At the end of the story, Legolas smiled at Aragorn. "Do you know what that means, sleepy ranger?"

Aragorn was actually, fully awake and excited. "That boy is alive! He didn't go deliver the message to the orcs after all!" His pain and weariness were forgotten in his jovial exclamation.

Legolas nodded excitedly, ignoring his suddenly flaring headache that was like a growing fire between his temples. "Yes! He must! Ah, that lightens my heart a bit."

Aragorn coughed a little in pain, but agreed, "Me too." He had not forgotten the kindness the boy had shown to both him and Legolas, but especially to Legolas, when Aragorn was unable to be with him. Legolas would never admit it, but that child had comforted Legolas immensely when he was so lonely and frightened –oh Legolas would never even admit it to himself, but he _had_ been afraid.

Elrohir quirked an eyebrow, and smiled at them. "I knew that you knew him, but had I known that good tidings of him would have made you both feel so much better, I would have spoken of him sooner and lightened your hearts."

Legolas changed the subject, becoming aware of Aragorn's wheezing, which had begun during the telling of the story, but had become increasingly worse. "How do you feel, _mellon nîn_?" His normally smooth brow creased in worry, not liking how Aragorn's fighting body seemed to be slowly succumbing piece by piece. Legolas had already noticed that the man didn't seem to be able to generate body heat, much less retain it.

Recognizing the need for Estel to be warm as well, Elrohir scooted even closer, and once again cursed the fact that his hands were bound. If they were not he would be holding the human up against his own body, if Legolas didn't get to him first.

Bending down, he kissed his brother's feverish forehead, saying, "I wish I could keep you warmer." Aragorn reached out a trembling hand and brushed a strand of dark hair from Elrohir's face, tucking it behind his ear. "But you'll be all right."

"I know, _gwador nîn_." He was content to just hear Elrohir's encouraging voice, telling him that he was all right. He may not have fully believed the words –if he was honest he didn't believe them at all –but he enjoyed hearing them because they came from his brother. Aragorn wanted to know how their homes fared before he died, because he didn't believe that he would ever get a chance to see them again, but he was afraid to ask and he doubted that Elrohir would tell him anything anyway.

Elrohir seemed to read his thoughts as did Legolas. Elves! Aragorn closed his eyes and almost shook his head. The instant his eyes shut, Legolas accused, "You are sleeping!"

Aragorn opened them again and denied the allegation, as though he was scandalized. "No, I wasn't." He tried to smile. "I was merely seeing if looking at the inside of my eyelids is anymore entertaining than listening to you two." He drew a shuddering breath. "If you want to know, it wasn't much better."

Elrohir, playing along for the time being, cocked his head to the side and his eye brows nearly went into his hair. "Much?" he asked dubiously, almost taking a light insult. If it kept Estel awake and concentrated on other things then he didn't mind seeming as silly or naive as he could possibly get. He had almost forgotten the unspoken question that was weighing on his brother's heart. Unfortunately, Legolas had not.

"Elrohir, how are things at home?" He had not been in the mood to allow Rothinzil to inform him of much of anything, but here, waiting for death or for freedom, there was hardly anything else to do but swap news and stories. And even if they kept Aragorn entertained, they made him feel better too.

Elrohir was silent for a minute, not knowing how to answer. He would have paid double to think of a way to change the subject, but as he could not without being overly obvious he was forced to face Legolas' inquiry. The more he thought about it, the more he was beginning to realize that there was no way to break the news easily to either Aragorn or Legolas.

"It is…not that good, but not that bad either." He was halfway lying but Estel was so direly sick from his severe wound and Elrohir didn't want to make him feel any worse. He was sure that Legolas would ask him of this again later if he didn't provide a full answer, but that was all right.

What Elrohir had seemed to have forgotten or maybe had not realized and understood, was that Aragorn had grown up a lot in the years of the travels of Thorongil. Both he and Legolas had. Legolas was no longer the jovial Wood-Elf prince that he had once been. War had worked strange ways in them both. "Do not baby me, Elrohir," Estel demanded, his lips tightly pressed as he swallowed back more pain. If either Legolas or Aragorn were to look into a mirror, they would no recognize their reflections, and in truth, might have been a little afraid.

Elrohir gulped, knowing that no answer could be worse than not answering at all. "There is perpetual winter in Imladris." He wouldn't expect any other mortal to understand this, but he knew that Estel would.

Aragorn closed his eyes and clenched them, but Elrohir and Legolas both knew that this time, there was no danger of him falling asleep. "Why doesn't _ada_ use the… it?" Aragorn questioned, slowly reopening his orbs so that he could stare up at the darkening sky. Of course he was referring to Vilya, but that name was forbidden to be spoken outside of the most trusted of company and location.

Elrohir shook his head, seemingly frustrated. "Oh, Estel, I don't know! I don't think he has the strength any longer. He left Imaldris some time ago, going to Mirkwood looking for you. He had gone from there to Lórien when we left, to visit Arwen if you want to know." Aragorn looked uncomfortable, not appreciating the turn this answer had taken. Elrohir closed his eyes shortly and when he reopened them, he tried to convey his sister's deepest wishes. "She misses you Estel, despite _Ada_. She loves you."

Legolas cast a quick, silent warning to Elrohir. This subject had been tender and sensitive all during his and Aragorn's travels and he had rarely approached the matter. As a matter of fact, he had never brought it up. Only Aragorn had once in a while, and all Legolas had done was listen and let the ranger bare his soul.

Elrohir read the clue and attempted to change the subject. "Sorry, ummm…"

Aragorn gently interjected, "It is all right. How fares she?" He didn't feel comforted, asking this question, and in fact, his pain seemed to increase, but he was desperate for word of her. Even in the war, as much as he had missed his father, and his brothers, his thought had ever turned to her.

"Things go well with her," Elrohir assured calmly. He didn't want to tell Aragorn that since she had first laid eyes on him and since he had been gone for so long, her laughter was less and eventually becoming non-existent. He didn't know if his father blamed Aragorn, but he knew that he and Elladan would never blame Aragorn. Arwen's choices were not his to take guilt for.

Aragorn sensed that he was being left in the dark, but he was too tired to put up an argument. "That is good…then."

Legolas finally mustered up the courage to ask the question lying closest on his heart. "How fares Mirkwood? How fares my father?"

Elrohir took longer to formulate his response. "Things have become very dark, Legolas." He didn't want to say what he and everyone else already knew. Thranduil's will was almost broken, thinking Legolas was dead. He had lost all that he had truly cared about and his will that had helped hold back the spiders and worked the magic on the gates, was fading.

Legolas didn't move…he didn't even blink. His heart seemed to stop beating and he forgot how to breathe. He had never meant to cause this, but how had he been supposed to choose between his father and a sworn brother? Either outcome, he was sure, would have been horrible and more than he could bear, but it didn't change how his heart and soul seemed stolen away. "But is my father…well?" He couldn't even breathe the question "Is my father …alive?"

Elrohir knew that he had to be loyal to his friend and therefore be completely honest. "No," he shook his head sadly. Aragorn was afraid to look at Legolas at first but then forced himself to, and shuddered when he saw the growing void in his friend's eyes. Elrohir apologized, "Legolas, I am so sorry-"

"No," Legolas cut him off quietly. "I asked you." Legolas suddenly seemed to shrink and he became very cold. "I set off to prevent the Dark Lord's work, and only managed to make his job easier in my own home." Looking towards the North where Mirkwood lay, he promised, "But I will get home and I will see everything restored."

After this everyone was quiet, turning their eyes to watch the sun begin to sink beneath the line and leave a world of growing black. The stars were gradually peeking out one by one, but Legolas refused to look at them, hardly believing he deserved the privilege of looking upon their unsoiled radiance that night. At last, he mumbled darkly, "Why doesn't Roth hurry up?"

Elrohir sighed. "I am sure that he is doing the best he can."

Aragorn split his sceptical look between Elrohir and Legolas. The expression actually looked genuine, if one considered the ranger's condition. "You sent Roth to do negotiations? What?" Roth was not that kind of Elf. For all his antics, he could make a good warrior –even a great one, but never a politician or diplomat –he just wasn't that devious even if he was incredibly intelligent.

Legolas' frown deepened and he said nothing, feeling too distraught at this moment and not wanting to stress about Roth on top of everything else.

Elrohir supplied an answer. Shaking his head dejectedly, he muttered. "Shocking, I know." He grinned wickedly at Legolas. "It is his fault, really. He wouldn't have any less, than another chance to get himself killed. One of us had to do the negotiating."

Aragorn smiled. When he spoke, his voice was bit scratchier. "I b-bet he volunteered for that."

Elrohir's voice was morbid as he stared darkly at the grass. "Not exactly."

Aragorn grimaced. He could only imagine, at least, he could if his head would stop swinging and flowering with odd shapes of colour. He had hardly realized that he had closed his eyes yet again. It had become so natural to want to keep them shut. They felt like they were made of lead.

Elrohir's anxious, persistent, voice reiterating through his consciousness prompted him to prop them open once more. Everything looked soft, fuzzy and almost cuddly. Even an orc might look adorable if he saw it now. Blackness was encroaching on the edges of his vision, creating only a small portal for him to see through and even that portal was unclear. Blinking, he tried to focus on Legolas' face and then onto Elrohir's. "You have to stay awake Estel," the younger twin demanded. "You promised Legolas."

Aragorn blinked some more, trying to dispel his vision impediments. "…wasn't sleeping."

Elrohir smiled wryly. "Of course not. I was merely reminding you."

Aragorn stared up at the sky. "Ah, thank you."

Silence.

The impending news of Mirkwood and Rivendell's continued decline into darkness had quieted everyone and was weighing heavily on all of their hearts, despite any attempts to be optimistic. Legolas' heart felt as though it was now trapped in his stomach and a dark nausea was swirling. He was going to be sick. He had thought that his body wouldn't register anymore pain, because it had already taken as much as it could handle, but his body and soul seemed to be separate issues. Right now his soul was aching and he could not alleviate it –he didn't want to.

Aragorn was in so much pain and feely so groggy that he was barely aware. When he had heard that Rivendell had fallen into perpetual winter, he had felt nothing but an increase of the shock his body was already fighting. Of course he wasn't cold-hearted toward his home, but his mind and body were in no state that allowed him to willingly accept any terrible or heart-wrenching fact. He was going numb and suddenly, things were not so important anymore. Each breath, he expected to be his last. He didn't want to give up for his brothers' sakes or for Legolas'…or for Arwen's or his homeland, but he was beginning to wonder if he had much of a choice.

Elrohir just didn't know what to say that could possibly comfort either of them. He would like nothing better than to pull them into an embrace and promise that everything was going to be all right…eventually. Of course, with his arms bound this was quite impossible and even if they were not, he was terrified of making a promise that he wouldn't be able to keep. A broken promise could do a lot more damage than one that was never made. His knees were beginning to hurt from kneeling so much and so he shifted and crossed his legs, still remaining close to his little brother. After a moment, Legolas did the same thing, but he doubted that the prince was copying him. He doubted that Legolas was much aware of his surroundings.

Where Legolas sat, brooding, he mumbled inaudibly, "Roth you had better come soon, or Valar help me, I will choke you."

Suddenly, his sharp ears caught footsteps approaching and without looking up, he new that some of their captors were returning. Things must not have been going well between the forces.

:0Ї0:

Rothinzil nervously patted his horse, trying to calm himself. He waited a few minutes for results. It wasn't working. Negotiating with Thengel had been easy enough, and as a matter of fact, he had seemed very compliant in his want to make things right again. That had disturbed the warrior more than an argument would have. He had not been prepared for the idea to be welcomed, but there was nothing to complain about in that regard. It was what the traitors were demanding that was causing the lull in the progress and Rothinzil still could not get over their paranoid stupidity.

There were many outrageous demands that they could have asked to be fulfilled, but they had only made a few. They would not be harmed if they released all _three_ of the hostages. For the exchange, King Thengel himself would ride down unescorted and shake on it, since there was no paper or ink and nothing could be written out and seal with his insignia. King Thengel and his most trusted warriors were discussing the terms now in privacy. These demands were just ridiculous, Roth concluded, but he feared what they would bring. He had known that Legolas and Elrohir had come up with an idiotic plan but he had not understood the full extent of it until now. He had a sinking suspicion that the only thing those three would all be doing was easing themselves into the other world. Scowling, Rothinzil was reminded of how much he absolutely hated it when he was left behind. Legolas had left him behind once, found himself over his head in trouble, and now he was doing it _again_. Had he learned nothing? Of course.

The voice of some of the traitors pulled Roth out of his inner monologue and he frowned darkly, focusing on the group of fraternizing men near a thousand yards ahead, limiting their distance to a yelling range. "Your friends are going to die if we don't get answers soon, Elf!" "I think Thorongil is in the other realm already!" "Are you just going to gawk at us?" "Are you deaf or something?"

Roth glowered, his eyes becoming narrowed slits. Shaking his head mentally while remaining stony on the outside, he decided to ignore the threats. There were a few more idle, goading shouts and then one caught his attention, alerting all of his senses. He sat up straighter with a jerk and stared at the men apprehensively.

"If their consulting takes much longer," they threatened impatiently. "Your golden-haired friend is dying first and we'll see if that doesn't bring you to reason any faster!"

Those were the right words to say if they wanted Roth to heed their voices and they had his undivided attention. His long-seeing Elvish eyes easily narrowed in on Legolas, being shoved forward between the angry, frightened men. His nose was bleeding again but Roth knew that Legolas was too wearied and beaten down to have resisted much. He must have been struck out of spite. Legolas' eyes were downcast and a sad, regretful expression clouded his features. Once he was in the forefront of the parley, one man stepped out with a crossbow –a loaded crossbow.

Roth watched as they roughly manhandled his friend simply to see if they could garner a reaction out of him before throwing him to his knees, which didn't take much effort. Rothinzil couldn't hear what they were telling his prince but he didn't need to. If he got any angrier, he was sure that he would take ill with a temperature or have a fury-induced heart attack.

Legolas blinked tiredly, not sure how all this had happened and wondering what was going on. When he saw them bring out the crossbow and heard the threats he sighed dejectedly. He knew why they had chosen him instead of Estel or Elrohir. Elrohir was too strong and would constantly fight them. Estel was too weak and wouldn't last even on his knees. They had needed someone weak enough to cause little trouble, but strong enough to stand on his own.

A scratchy whisper caught the prince's attention and he raised his eyes to glower at the human posing the crossbow. "Beg for your life, Elf! Tell your friends how much you want to live! Tell them!"

Legolas didn't even decide to grace the man with an answer and he turned his head away dispassionately. Blinking, he stared at a few taller blades of grass wafting in the breeze. It was strangely captivating and for a few moments he hardly noticed anything else.

The human seemed exasperated when Legolas suddenly turned and merely looked at him, almost as though this was all very casual. "Look, Elf, you had better beg, or we can force you to!" He slung the bow over his shoulder and cracked his knuckles menacingly. "See?"

Legolas nodded almost enthusiastically. "I see many things, actually. First of all, I see that you are being incredibly stupid and arrogant. Secondly, that no one cares and thirdly, that the arrows of your crossbow are shaped a bit crooked."

The man looked dumbfounded for a minute and he almost turned to check his arrows and see if the Elf was right. However, that would only make him look more stupid and that just simply wouldn't work. Shaking his head, he snarled. "You're worthless!"

Legolas almost nodded in agreement. Yes, right now he was practically worthless. He couldn't help his friends, he wasn't going to beg for his life, and he couldn't help himself either. Ah, well, he supposed that it would be unfair if he was allowed to do _everything_. His body shuddered as he attempted to draw a deep breath for a drawn out sigh and the sigh came out as a cough.

_Elrohir_, Legolas willed mentally, _don't you dare let that drifty _­Adan_ fall asleep_. Promise or no promise, there were some things that were spinning completely out of Aragorn's control and he knew that the human would never admit it. Of course, Legolas also knew that if their places were reversed he would never admit it either –especially not to himself.

"I guess we are just going to have to do things the hard way, aren't we?" the man asked. He had become irritated with the crossbow and its arrows and handed them off to another man nearby. "You had better tell your friends that someone is going to die, Elf! It may not be you, but someone is going to die! Is that understood? If you value any of your captive friends you will beg for their lives as well as your own."

Legolas hated this, he truly did. He had gotten himself captured so that he could rescue Aragorn. He had made the assumption that these men would have easy terms to keep, mainly that they were allowed to keep their heads if all three of the captives were returned. But it was not so. These men wanted more than that, however stupid their requests were. It was hard to argue with idiots when they had such an advantage. If he didn't beg, it jeopardized Aragorn's life –the life that he had come to save.

He felt a crossbow bolt gently prick against his temple and he shifted disdainfully away, glowering at the man wielding it. The weapon was trained on him now. If he didn't comply then he was going to die and he had a feeling that Aragorn could be next. He couldn't allow that, no matter the costs. He had promised that to himself before his second capture.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked tiredly, a defeated slump coming into his shoulders.

The man smiled wickedly. "I knew that you would see reason!" But Legolas noticed with some apprehensions and a little annoyance that the man pulled back on the crossbow and put the Elf directly in the sights. But then he shifted the bow's aim and a muffled _thuck_ could be heard beside Legolas as the arrow ripped the grass and embedded itself in the earth up to the feathers.

Legolas frowned. "Your arrow shafts are crooked and the feathers are a bit shabby," he noted dryly.

His remarks went either unnoticed or were just plainly ignored. "Tell them that the next arrow is going to weave its way to your heart." The human notched another arrow, and set it into the bow, drawing it back and placing his fingers eagerly on the trigger.

When Roth had seen that arrow released and look as though it was going to impale his dearest friend and prince, he had nearly died. His heart had stopped beating and his lungs had held onto the breath they had just drawn, letting it loose only a few seconds later. But now that he had seen it miss Legolas altogether and harmlessly strike the grass, he was incensed. He didn't know what made these people think that they could antagonize his friend and get away with it, but he imagined that it derived from their blatant lack of intelligence.

But the hitching line of Sindarin speech he heard made him freeze and nearly die all over again. "_Rothinzil! You have c-c-cconvince them to hurry the meeting! You have to_!" Legolas' voice was so raspy that it was barely recognizable and he cold tell that Legolas' strength was draining to provide energy for him to yell like he had seconds ago.

The man near Legolas clouted him on the ear with his fist, earning a cry of surprise from the unsuspecting prince, who ducked closer to the ground. "Say it in a language we can all understand!"

Legolas was at a loss for a moment. He didn't want these men to hear his private conversation. It was none of their business and it would simply never do. "But my warrior doesn't understand the Common Tongue, and right now he has taken charge of the negotiating." Legolas resourcefully came up the lie. In truth, it was the exact opposite. It had taken Legolas a long time to teach Rothinzil fluent Sindarin after upbringing at the hands of mortals where only Common was spoken. They were still working on sharpening his Quenya. But no matter, these people could never know that.

The man blinked, astonished. "He doesn't?"

Legolas' answer was impatient. "No. He doesn't."

The man seemed frustrated and then he raised the crossbow and threatened. "How do we know that you are telling the truth and not feeding us a pack of lies, Elf?"

Legolas' mind-set was surly and his answer clearly reflected it. "You don't." If his eyes could get any colder, they would be frozen in his head. If he got any angrier then the frozen orbs would likely crack through their centre.

However, he was almost one hundred percent certain that he could hear this man's teeth grinding in frustration. Well, at least he was getting some satisfaction out of this, because being seen as a weak bargaining chip before his friends and allies was definitely not something he would call amusing. "Very well, Elf, but say something wrong and we find out…then we will kill one of your friends!"

Legolas almost sighed. That was the same old threat. These people were not that creative. He couldn't understand how they could be so effective through repetition, but they were. "Have it your way," he answered darkly, turning his face to look towards where Rothinzil was on the knoll gaping at him with apprehensive eyes. He hoped his friend remembered to breathe.

"Oh, I will Elf," the man with the crossbow promised in an equally dark monotone. "Keep talking!" he demanded, giving Legolas a dig in the knee, finding the most vulnerable part of the joint to inflict his boot upon. Legolas flinched angrily.

Thinking of a message that wouldn't scare Rothinzil into the next realm, Legolas finally settled on one. "_Rothinzil, are they finished yet? These men are irritating…I am afraid for Estel! He isn't doing so well! Elrohir is with him!" _

Rothinzil suddenly began to feel a bubbling, sort of boiling feeling in his chest. He had made a mistake, he realized. He had thought he was angry before, but no, of course, he had been wrong. He was angry _now_. Before, he had merely been aggravated and impatient as well as afraid.

"_I can't! Legolas, it is not up to me! What are they doing to you? What have they done to Elrohir and to Estel?_" Roth shouted back, trying not to let his desperation show. However, he couldn't erase it off his face, where it was written in his eyes and on his brow. He could feel his hands shaking on his horse and he clutched the animal's coarse mane to hide it. It shook its head in minor annoyance.

Legolas shuddered exhaustedly. The exertion from yelling was wearing heavily on his already overtaxed constitution. His lungs convulsed as he restrained humiliating coughs. He felt the arrow tickling under his chin and twisted away, irritating and still regaining his breath. "_They aren't very encouraging people!_" Legolas tried to guise his voice so it was sounding close to desperation. "_Although, they do try!_"

Roth scowled. "_My lord, that is not what I asked!_"

Legolas almost gave a belying half-smile. "_Roth! We don't have time! If that meeting is not cut short, there will be no one to rescue!" _

Roth grimaced. He had no power, here, none at all. If he did, they would all have been dead and his friends free.

The man holding the crossbow lowered the weapon before handing it off once more. He was going to need both his hands. His boot connected sharply with Legolas' head, underestimating the effect that it would have on the already weakened prisoner. "Straying off topic?" the man guessed in a hiss.

Legolas opened one eye to glower at the man darkly, before speaking. Sharp barbs of pain were darting back and forth between his temples, and the more he opened his eyes, the worse the pain became. "I was not, _Adan_!" Legolas snapped, switching back into Common.

The man obviously as not impressed. Legolas tried to pull away as the human's fingers snarled themselves in his hair, but they pulled his throbbing head back. "Then what all is there to talk about? You don't sound very desperate!"

Legolas opened both of his eyes this time, swirling them around to meet his captor's eyes. "Should I give you that satisfaction?"

"I don't believe you, Elf! If your companion could only understand…Elf-speak, he could have not consorted with those men! _No one_ here speaks your language!"

Legolas had to admit that he had not foreseen this, but there was no way to deny it. Common was easier to learn than the language of the Rohirrim and it wouldn't be plausible that he would learn that instead. Roth could barely get his tongue around Quenya.

"You are a liar, Elf!" the man accused, throwing Legolas' backward by his hair. Legolas coughed a little as his back impacted hard with the ground. "You know," the man suggested, in open debate, "the only thing that doesn't lie is screams."

Legolas used his feet to push him backward a little, putting himself just out of the man's reach. He knew his effort was in vain. "You don't have to do this! All you have to do is come to their side!" he implored them to understand. "They wish no vengeance on you."

The man sneered angrily, "They want justice!"

Legolas almost nodded. He couldn't argue with that. He himself wanted it –perhaps more than anyone else -and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to the vengeance too. "But they are willing to set even that aside. What they want and what they need are two different matters. The Nameless One is gathering his forces. I have walked past there, I know. Your king needs more men. What he has now is not sufficient as defence against the coming evil. You know this. You planned an insurgency. Just place yourself back on the right side. Any man who surrenders will not be harmed."

The man considered the Elf's words for a minute, wondering if there was more that was being unsaid. "You lied about everything else-"

"Why would I lie about this?" Legolas interjected, not feeling very patient.

"You tell me!" The man snarled, kicking Legolas in the ribs. The prince's breath was spirited away and he was motionless for a moment, trying to catch it.

"I wouldn't…lie about this!" he insisted. If they didn't see reason, then they would never surrender and Estel would die, as would Elrohir. Legolas knew that he was going to die. Roth would have to return home alone and Legolas felt heartbroken as he realized he had just killed his friend's spirit. Roth would die before he reached home. The evil news would murder his soft heart.

"Maybe you would, to save yourself and your friends!" Legolas knew that the human was right. He would to save his friends, but he wasn't now! Oh well, they were going to do what they were going to do and there was no stopping them –things had gone beyond that. His spirit and body were fatigued with his injuries, his fears and the suffering of his friends.

:0Ї0:

Ever since the men had dragged Legolas off, nearly breaking his nose out of spite, Aragorn could not stop himself from shaking. Elrohir would have accredited this to the man's wound had not Legolas been taken away. The ranger was terrified now, but not for himself. Legolas was already in horrible shape, and if they applied anymore abuse he knew that the thread the prince's consciousness was dwindling on would break and from there anything could happen to the Elf. "Elrohir, you have to do something!" the man hissed, his chin quivering.

The Eldar scowled at him, frustrated. He was afraid too. But his bonds had rendered him helpless. "I can't, Estel!" he implored. But, he was unable to meet Aragorn's eyes and see the hurt in their silver depths.

"What is going to happen to him, Elrohir?" Aragorn's mind was still cloudy and he didn't fully understand what was happening. All he knew was that his best friend had just been dragged away and that they were using him for something.

Elrohir shook his head. He wished that he could say that he had answers, but he couldn't. "I can't say."

"Elrohir," Aragorn's soft voice caused the twin to stare the ranger full in the face. "We can't let him get killed."

:0Ї0:

"My name is Gálmód. I am the counsellor to King Thengel," a middle aged man with frosted blonde hair introduced himself to Rothinzil.

The Elf's eyes were dispassionate and his voice was a monotone. "I need no counsel, counsellor Gálmód."

The man shook his head, and looked to where Roth's eyes were transfixed. He couldn't see the Elf's friend, but he knew that he was there and he was well aware of what was happening. "You misunderstand me, Master Elf. I am to accompany you to negotiate with the men."

Roth snapped his head to lock eyes with the counsellor. "Your king is not coming as well?" His face was white as he realized that they would kill Legolas for this. Those traitors would kill him. "You don't understand! They will kill him! They will kill all three of them!" This counsellor, however good his intentions were, just couldn't understand how dire this situation was and all that stood to be lost.

"We'll see," he said with almost flawless serenity. An air of confidence befitting an aged counsellor glowed around him. Normally, Rothinzil would have found this confidence to be consoling but now he found it highly irritating. This man wouldn't be so calm if he truly understood all that was transpiring. If anything, this man would be lying on the ground, his head in hole and his hands covering his ears mumbling prayers.

Roth shook his head vigorously. "You don't understand. Not only are those three in there my truest friends, they are also very important in the Elven realms! If they die, trust me, you will find your country razed to the ground –and that will probably be for a warm up!" Actually, judging from the condition of Mirkwood and Rivendell, he doubted this would happen, unless Elladan survived and led a contingent in his father's stead. Rivendell was still licking its wounds from the earthquake as well as the loss of Elrond and Vilya. Mirkwood's wounds were so far untended. They needed Legolas.

Gálmód didn't look the least bit impressed, even if that was how he felt. "I understand, Master Rothinzil. However, I am very experienced in such tricky areas and have counselled for many, many years." It is not likely that he understood the age differences between most Elves and men, or he wouldn't have used his age as an assurance.

"I have walked the earth more years than probably your whole family tree combined. Serious trouble will come of this if your efforts fail, and you may not live to fully regret this." Roth's statements were deadpanned, as he was emotionally drained.

The counsellor raised an eyebrow. "Are your threatening me, Master Elf?"

"No," Roth answered tensely. "Merely informing you. And trust me; those are my best friends –my family. If they are killed, then I will not let this go."

"I will take that into consideration," Gálmód answered, still unnervingly calm. "I am sure that King Thengel has already."

Rothinzil just nodded, at a loss and realizing that taking his frustrations out on the man were not going to help. If anything, they were going to make things worse. "Good." However before the incredulously warrior could stop himself, his mouth was open and he was asking, "Why did he choose to send _you_?"

The human stared at the Elf for a moment, seeing if the being was attempting some sort of crude jest. Rothinzil was not. Gálmód almost shrugged, but that would not seem very diplomatic. "I am his chief counsellor; it is my right when he must send someone. I am good at what I do, rest assured."

This was somewhat understandable, considering that Erestor always got chosen first in Rivendell. But, as finicky as that Elf-lord was, Roth would trust his life or the life of his friend's into Erestor's hands much more quickly than any human –save for Aragorn. But at the same time, the construction of the explanation had put the already agitated warrior on edge. "So this is a political benefit to you?"

"Possibly," he admitted without the least bit of hesitation. "Depending on how things turn out. But I don't need it. Anyway, there are much more important reasons. Regrettably, not all of these people are strangers."

Roth was intrigued. "Oh?"

"I have friends and old family relations among them –not bad people, although misled." He studied Roth's face for a minute and then confided, "I do not know what the way with Elves is, but with men they need a strong leader or they fall apart. Not all men are cut out to be leaders and those turn into followers. Thengel is a good king –but too gentle and his poverty stricken people needed assurance. All it took was two proud scouts to offer them that and they were eating out of the pair's hands. If they are scared now and they have to be made to believe their chances are greater than one to ten. They need a promise. Many of them trust me and my name carry's a lot of weight." Looking uncomfortable for the first time in a while, he admitted, "Almost more than the king's."

Roth looked a little more assured, even though he was still ill at ease for the most part. He was too scared for his friends and for his home and his terrorized heart was incapable in fully trusting anyone here. "Then why did they ask for the king?"

"Would you not want to speak to the one ultimately in charge if you were in their shoes? They want complete assurance."

"And you can give them that?" Rothinzil asked dubiously.

"We'll see."

The two then began to descend down the steep incline of the small knoll, their horses being used to the terrain and travelling at an even, incautious pace. Gálmód had gone first and Roth had kept his horse close on the other's heels, not wanting to seem fearful.

As they rode, he asked curiously, "What took the meeting so long?" He felt obligated to know since evidently Legolas had suffered for it. The prince had stopped crying out some time ago, but Roth knew that they had not stopped, still trying to encourage the prince to find his voice again.

"Convincing His Majesty not to go to them," answered the adviser matter-of-factly.

Roth nearly pulled his horse to a stop. Only the remembrance that time was precious preventing him from holding the conversation right here. "You had to talk him out of it? Why did you?"

"Would you risk harm to your lord, Master Rothinzil?" questioned Gálmód calmly, simultaneously guiding his cantering horse with aged skill.

Roth winced inwardly. He wouldn't, no, but he often didn't have the luxury of choice. Legolas wasn't considerate enough for that, which is what had gotten them all dragged into this mess that simply could have stayed strictly Rohan's business.

"I can tell that you would not," the aged man answered for the Elf. "Neither would we."

"But the people are scared and want assurance! Why would they kill the only one capable of granting them clemency?" The warrior just didn't understand this. None of it made any sense, even though he knew that the man he was talking to expected it to be perfectly understandable. Maybe his lack of comprehension stemmed from his fear-addled mind.

"It is protocol, Master Elf. We cannot run the risk. We cannot afford it. Théoden and his sister are both too young to rise to the throne. You have seen the reactions of men under a leader they do not have faith in. Now, imagine them leaderless," Gálmód grasped for Rothinzil's understanding. The warrior had to see that the realms of men were a delicate balancing scale that was easily tipped and that without certain practice, things would crumble from within and everything would go to ashes.

Rothinzil knew all of this, or had guessed it, but he still just couldn't gear his heart up to understand. A routed sort of half-scream tore his attention away from his inner thoughts and he jerked his head up, staring intently at where his friend was sprawled on his side, attempting feebly to curl in on his defenceless body. Gálmód's hand on his arm caused him to momentarily divert his attention away from Legolas, and he turned his head toward the human.

"Remain calm. Do not rush forward unless you wish to be shot and your friend killed. I give you this advice as a friend." His old eyes searched Rothinzil's face for compliance as well as comprehension.

The last thing the defensive warrior wanted to do was listen, but it seemed that he had no other options. Gálmód had an undeniable point. "I suppose I will have to trust you," he succumbed tensely.

Gálmód sighed. "It would help." He made a mental note that should he ever encounter Elves again, to remember that they were some of the most stubborn and suspicious creatures put together.

Their conversation ended as they reached their destination and pulled their animals to a stop. Gálmód's face was emotionless and cool, while Roth's was dead. His cheek bones stood out and his face was gaunt and drawn in terror. He had tried so hard to keep faith in his friends' strong wills and bring hope to the situation but all of his resolution was sucked into a dark void that consumed all reason.

Legolas wasn't moving.

**TBC…**

**OH, that definitely cannot be a good thing. ;) You can blame our non-existent consciences for that. Actually, they sort of collaborated with us. Please, as always, review! We love hearing from you and all the ones from the last chapter were absolutely terrific! Thank you! And thanks for all the well-wishes. :D I am now recovering and doing my best to catch up in school before the end of the quarter… in a week! Eeps! My sister and Dad's birthday are on the fourth and fifth, so I have some gift shopping to do for that! Hehehehe...I know, that really isn't too much to complain about, is it? **

**IMPORTANT: Our site is now operational and amazingly, we have updated: having fan art, a picture of Rothinzil (created by me) and an animation created for us by Ponteh. –Waves to her-. We also have a March contest, so if you are bored that could be fun! ;) **

**Also, those of you who left their e-mail, you should have gotten review responses, we sent them, but if they don't arrive, THANKS! **


	11. If it's Worth Saving Me

_I Will Always Return_

:0Ї0:

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

If it's Worth Saving Me

Legolas couldn't feel or see much because of his bonds, but what he did see or feel was almost unbearable. His ribs felt like they had exploded from the new series of repeated blows the men had rained down on them. He had known that a fair amount of them had been cracked or more than a few were broken, but he would bet almost anything that they _all_ had suffered more than cracks. Strangely enough, even though his senses had dulled earlier, the new burst of adrenaline had sharpened them and sounds and sights were amplified to an almost painful degree.

The prince had not been able to keep his eyes open for long once they began to enhance the imagery of what was taking place around him. He preferred his torments and his tormentors to remain sort of faceless and he was very tired anyway. Shifting, the prince stopped immediately when he felt fire break out in his wounded shoulder. During the process of goading a small scream from Elf, the sharper parts of their heavy riding boots had burst the stitches of his sword wound and torn the skin. Surprisingly, it was not bleeding very much at all. Legolas' body had retained barely enough blood to survive and now, it was gearing all of it towards the prince's major organs. The result of this was that his body was not very compliant and slow to react.

He could hear voices, one of which was most certainly Rothinzil's. The warrior sounded scared and Legolas hated how the proud Elf's voice trembled. He could tell that Roth was ready to beg for his release, and for the release of Estel and Elrohir. But there was another more serene voice working side by side with his friend's in an effort to coax their captors into seeing the light of reason. The voice was obviously that of an aged human but it had the melodious quality of an Elf's.

There was the sound of someone dismounting and then Legolas heard the men surrounding him tense and heft their spears and short swords, assuming a defensive stance. "Let me see to my friend," Roth demanded in a quiet, but dangerous tone that was a threat by itself. "He is dying, can you not see it?" All patience had bled out of Roth and he stepped decisively forward, only to be stopped by spears nipping at his throat and chest.

"One more move, Elf," one of the men growled and jabbed the sharp point of his spear against Roth's chest, cutting past the tunic and digging into the skin. It was a threat and Roth knew it. Gálmód cautioned him with a glare, bidding the Elf to consider the consequences.

The warrior's face looked panicked and he was almost sick with anxiety. At a loss, the gentle natured Elf pressed a little further but stopped when it became apparent that they would quite readily run him through. "Please, he'll die-"

"Then give us your weapons, Elf," snapped one man, holding his palm outstretched towards the warrior, expectantly.

Roth back-pedalled, unwilling to become another victim and play into their hands. It would never do for these men to find themselves with a fourth bargaining piece. Legolas and Elrohir had knowingly done so, for Estel's sake, but Roth knew that if these men had any more power and any more chances things would only become worse. "No. They are not yours to take. Move aside, he needs aid."

"We didn't come here to negotiate with Elves!" snarled another older man, shouldering his way to the forefront of the men. Spitting at Roth, he reached past the spear and shoved the Elf back a pace, unknowingly applying pressure to the warrior's shoulder wound. Roth grimaced before he could help himself, causing the angered man to sneer. "Mount your pony and sit down before you hurt yourself Elf!" He spewed the "advice" as the slur it was meant to be.

Roth barely spared himself an embarrassing fall backward as he regained his balance, but did not comply with the demands. His hazel eyes turned a dark green with insult and anger and he started forward again, only to feel Gálmód's arm slap across his chest, creating a barrier and calling him to peace. Being a stranger to this land's customs and desiring to get Legolas free above all things, the Elf reluctantly remained a pace behind the elderly adviser, but his eyes remained transfixed on Legolas. The prince was obviously in incredible pain.

Here the conversation switched into the flowing speech of the Rohirrim, of which Roth knew next to nothing. He had picked up a few words here or there, but nothing that would really make this any more understandable. Apprehension became visible on his paling face with the knowledge that his friends' fates would be the topic of conversation and he could understand nothing.

The men ignored him, as though he wasn't even there.

The elderly man that had shoved the warrior back walked boldly in front of Gálmód, who remained motionless as well as dispassionate. "What is it you have to say, Master Gálmód?"

"That I want this band of rebels you have taken up with to disperse, Master Déorwine." Even in making his demands, Gálmód's voice was very civil and calm. There was no deception. This was how he was, and it even managed to garner respect from these people.

"'Fraid we can't oblige. We would, naturally, but we have some younger men among us who don't want to die." The older man's raspy voice worsened towards the end and he coughed to clear it.

"They wouldn't have to, providing that they renounce their actions and release the three captives." Turning to look at Roth, Gálmód saw that the warrior was hardly paying attention to the negotiations at all. He had eyes and ears for only his friend right now. Every sound or move Legolas made, no matter how minute, he noticed. However the prince wasn't moving much at all. "The blonde Elf is dying, Déorwine."

The old man nodded gravely and looked a little remorseful. He lowered his shaggy head for a minute before glancing back at the curled-up Elf. Legolas' breaths were coming in ragged, short gasps that were dangerously shallow. Looking back at Gálmód with drooping eyes, the man whispered, "I know."

"If he dies, your chances of mercy will lessen. Our terms are that all three must be alive and surrendered to us. You would be wise to let his friend here tend to him." The aged counsellor scrutinized the situation before him. This was not going well. "How fare the others?" He asked softly, but with a hint of apprehension in his voice.

Déorwine sighed and said, "I don't see how the ranger is hanging on. I can't understand it. The dark-haired Elf is doing fine though, a little roughed up, but he had that coming."

Gálmód was not anymore impressed, but his concern was finally beginning to show through. "If they die, there is going to be real trouble. The Elven realms are quiet now. They will be roused."

"Sharky will be angry, so will the Dark One," a younger man intervened brusquely. "I imagine that their anger will be greater."

Gálmód ignored the younger man and glowered angrily at Déorwine. "How did all of this come about? The king has always been good to his people!" He shook his head. "Surely you realize that this has been ridiculous from the start and is bordering on insanity now?"

"Now is not the time for long tales, Master Gálmód," the older man reminded wisely.

"True enough," the counsellor admitted, his eyes darkening. "Time is flying by, lives are at stake. Here is what the king offers: your lives for theirs." He wasn't going to try and explain what should be self-explanatory, that would be a waste of time, which was what these people wanted. "We want no more blood to be spilled. The king desires only peace and the resolution between brothers. We are all from Rohan. If you need protection from those you previously sided with, you shall have it." Thengel had not actually said this, but Gálmód could easily see him accepting it.

Déorwine was still suspicious, even though it was obvious that he wanted this to end. The people of Rohan were proud folk and he no less than anyone else. This begging for their lives was becoming unbearable.

The younger men were still not so sure. They had their families' lives to think about. "And _His Majesty_ did such a wonderful job of looking out for us before!" snapped the one that had interrupted earlier.

Roth was beginning to sense that things were going ill and he felt panic bubbling in his chest. He didn't appreciate being left out in the dark of the conversation and looked sidelong Gálmód. "What is being said? What about my friends?" His voice was tainted with desperation. Although Roth had not intended it, his eyes seemed to enlarge to nearly twice their natural size.

Gálmód waited a moment before addressing the Elf in Common. "Things are going much the same. I don't think that they appreciate your presence. You are going to have to trust me and keep silent."

Roth's voice became bitter. "That is hard to do when one of my friends is dying at your feet, while the others suffer out of sight." His eyes, though still large, burned with distrust.

Gálmód could understand the warrior's frustrations, but there wasn't much that he could do. The men they were dealing with were not going to accept the removal of the prince from their grasps nor Roth in their midst. They had been through this once. He was quiet for a moment, everyone was. "I will see what I can do," he assured softly.

Roth gave a small frown of dismay as the conversation resumed in Rohirrim, but said nothing. They wouldn't listen to him anyway, and if they really didn't like his presence it would probably only make matters worse.

He didn't know what had been said, but the conversation had been curt and a bit heated. However, he had no objections when one of the humans grabbed his arm, dragged him around the barrier of spears and all but threw him down by Legolas' side. He spoke as though he had just tried to quiet a child throwing a temper tantrum. "Good, maybe he will be quiet now!"

Roth didn't care to hear anymore of their conversation, as it would be unintelligible to his ears anyway. Legolas shifted, and rolled halfway onto his back, blinking rapidly as he tried to bring Roth's face into focus. He had not been conscious of the conversation, but he had felt the proximity of Roth dropping down beside him and had he had wondered if it was one of the men.

"Roth?" Legolas asked groggily, suppressing a wheeze as his insides protested.

Roth wanted to cry and no matter how much he willed his eyes not to water up, they did. With a trembling hand, he brushed back some of Legolas' dirtied hair from where it had stuck to his clammy face. The prince forced a thin smile. "Yes, I've come back." The way bright red blood was collecting in the corners of Legolas' mouth's corners and was lining his lips was frightening.

Legolas hardly seemed to notice and made no move to lick it away.

"Had they not done enough already?" Roth whispered in Elven, biting his lip in sympathy. He wanted to check Legolas' ribs, to see how many were broken, but the prince looked so fragile that Roth was afraid to touch his injuries. He was no healer after all, and the last thing that Legolas needed was more pain at the hands of a friend.

Legolas attempted to answer his friend's question after a laboured breath. "Apparently not…think they are finished…now."

Roth stiffened as he put his friend's garbled words together and growled defensively, "They had better be, for their own sakes."

Legolas would have laughed, but he was almost hypnotized by his pain and by how dark his friend's eyes had become. They had turned dark green before, but now they bordered on black. He had never seen his friend in this angered of a state. "You will not interfere…" Legolas forced the command. He wouldn't be able to bear it if one more of his friends ended up with further injury on his account.

Roth ignored his lord's order, as though it had never been spoken, but Legolas knew that he was listening. Roth would keep silent rather than verbally defy him. "Where are Estel and Elrohir?" the warrior questioned gently, wincing as Legolas closed his eyes. Images were still too close and too painful.

Legolas swallowed slowly and then murmured, "They…s-should be back there…guarded…"

The warrior shook his head, and muttered sadly, "I couldn't free them anyway."

The prince's eyes slowly opened and Roth knew that whatever he was about to say was important, or Legolas wouldn't endure the pain of trying to bring things into focus again. The blue orbs locked with Roth's, which had softened back to darkened hazel at the helplessness of his friend. "He w-will die…Roth."

Roth shook his head adamantly. "No, no he won't, my lord." There was no need for either of them to clarify who "he" was.

To change the frightening conversation, Roth studied Legolas' bonds where his hands were pinned behind his back. The prince's fingers looked stiff and swollen and it was obvious he had lost all sensation in the appendages some time ago. Anger flared through the protective warrior and his hand strayed to his dagger concealed in his boot. Pulling out the small, intricately designed blade, Roth prepared to severe the overly tight cords, but at least a few of the men not conversing with Gálmód were watchful. Instantly a well placed kick smashed into his abdomen and slammed him backward onto his back. Taking advantage of the Wood-Elf's vulnerability that his prone position provided, one of them stomped on his wrist, forcing his finger's open so the knife could be confiscated. Roth didn't fight, knowing it would only make things worse.

Legolas groaned. "Rothinzil! No!" However good Rothinzil's intentions were, he didn't want his friend to suffer for him.

Gálmód paused his negotiations long enough to regain the crucial control of the situation. Without control, his sway would break. "Members of an envoy are not to be touched." His calm and yet clipped voice captured everyone's attention and no one moved.

"They are not to pull out weapons, either!" countered the man pinning Roth to the ground as he applied more pressure to the Elf's lean wrist. The warrior felt his fingers beginning to tingle.

"His intent was not to harm you," argued Gálmód, his serene tone now becoming severe. However, he couldn't argue that Roth had broken one of the unspoken rules of diplomacy. Elves, there was no working with the creatures. "Let him up."

The men exchanged wary glances and eased up on the Elf, and the human pinning his wrist to the ground removed his boot. Roth didn't wait to rise to his knees and then shuffled closer to Legolas, glowering angrily at the men. He didn't try to reclaim his knife, not wanting to garner more trouble that would put Legolas' life as well as Aragorn and Elrohir's lives, into further jeopardy. However, he did subconsciously cradle his bruising wrist against his body.

The knife was picked up and surrendered to Gálmód for safe keeping.

Roth waited until the negotiations resumed before he turned back to Legolas. His determination to get the prince's bonds off had not lessened, but he would have to find a new tactic. "This may hurt, my lord," he cautioned before setting his fingers to the knots and gently starting to pry them apart.

Legolas sucked air between his teeth and growled, "Leave them!" The pain of his chaffing raw skin made his voice inadvertently sharp.

Roth didn't relent. "It will feel better when they are off, my lord." His fingers continued to pull at the knots. He tried to be gentle, but it was a real hindrance that was making the untying of the knots impossible.

Legolas was too tired to struggle or argue and he was sure that Roth had only his best interest in mind. He did his best to hide his hisses of pain as his friend worked he relentless knots but they became inevitable and a stronger cry forced Roth to stop. He looked hurt and Legolas closed his eyes to block out the pained expression. "Legolas, I am afraid they won't budge. But the men are negotiating and you will be out of here in no time at all."

Legolas only smiled thinly. "I k-know, you tried."

Roth frowned and looked like he was in a round of mental kicking of himself. "It wasn't good enough. I am sorry."

Their conversation was interrupted by raised voices coming from Gálmód, Déorwine and other men that participated in the negotiating. Both of the Elves turned their attention to the heated debate, even though neither of them could understand a word of it. Legolas had known a little Rohirrim since his father had been very adamant that a prince should speak a variety of languages, but he was too groggy to remember anything helpful. Rothinzil could barely get his tongue around Elvish.

"Those of you who wish to return to us, may," Gálmód allowed, scrutinizing the men surrounding him in a semi-ring. "Those who do not want to don't have to, but the prisoners come with us _alive_. _That_ is not negotiable."

"I have trusted you for many years, Gálmód. You are a good man. But we need the king's assurance. We need his insignia."

The counsellor shook his head. "He has no suck tokens with him. You shall have to trust me once again."

Legolas began to drift asleep as the heated discussions drew on for another hour. He wanted to care, and he did care about the fate of his friends and his family, but he new that there was nothing he could do to help anything right now. Roth consolingly stroked Legolas hair away from his face, but fearing that he would embarrass the prince, stopped and merely placed his hand on Legolas' good shoulder, massaging his fingers gently into the tense flesh. He wanted to pull Legolas close to him as the prince felt quite cold, but he was afraid to incite even one of his many injuries.

It seemed things droned on like this for some time and then Legolas felt horrible, pulsing pain in his hands, like needles of fire pricking into every available space of his skin. This was strange though, for he could also move his fingers…and his arms. Blinking as he pulled his arms in front of himself and immediately flexed his fingers, Legolas realized that his bonds had been cut. However, the pain he felt wrapping in hot bands around his abdomen and chest caused him to suddenly hug his arms against his body.

Rothinzil stared sadly at the prince and then slid his arms under him to pick him up when the Elf stopped him, feebly pulling away. "No." His voice wasn't clear, but it was obvious that he was fully conscious.

Roth misinterpreted his friend and shook his head, chastising, "You cannot walk on your own this time, my lord."

Legolas shook his head carefully, not having enough immediate breath to speak. When he gathered enough air, he explained, "I want no one else to carry…Estel…leave me…if you have to…but _you_ are to carry him." He didn't understand what was going on, but if they were going anywhere he automatically assumed that Estel was going too. He couldn't hear any other voices and guessed that the negotiations were over and well over.

Roth didn't need to ask if it was an order, and even if he did, he didn't want to. He didn't agree with what Legolas wished, but he understood the reasoning and he wanted his prince to rest easily as possible. He wanted Legolas to know that Aragorn was in good hands.

Remaining on his knees for a minute, he was about to grasp Legolas' hand and tell him, "I will back for you", but the prince lashed out impatiently. "Time is waning! Go!" Rothinzil had not seen Aragorn's injuries. Legolas had and he wanted that human looked after as soon as possible. He wouldn't believe that Aragorn was dead, but he had not resigned himself to Aragorn living either. He was too scared of getting his hopes up and having them crushed in defeat. His heart was already in so many pieces and he didn't want it to shatter into even smaller fragments.

Rothinzil didn't hesitate, and all but jumped up. The camp was in the process of being abandoned and men walking around him looked at the warrior was though he was crazy but continued on their way. Going past Legolas, they stared down at the prince curiously, but Legolas didn't notice except maybe for their heavy footsteps. His eyes were closed and his senses were fairly overwhelmed in emotion and pain.

Roth looked back once, grimacing as he saw Legolas nearly get stepped on twice by careless humans. He hated leaving him so vulnerable and he was sure Thranduil would kill him if he ever found out.

Going further into the deserting camp, it didn't take the warrior long to locate Elrohir and Aragorn. The human was lying on the ground, looking as though death had already settled on him. His face held no colour, matching the rest of his overly thin, worn body. The man's eyes were closed and Roth felt fear wrap itself around his heart and squeeze so that he couldn't breathe. Elrohir was kneeling next to the ranger, still bound but visibly fighting the ropes so that his wrists were red and raw. The men had not bothered to untie the captive and Roth felt a surge of anger pass through him as he stood rooted to the ground.

Rushing over, he placed an assuring hand on Elrohir's shoulder to put an end to his struggling. "It would be easier if I cut you loose." Elrohir stopped abruptly and glared over his shoulder at the Wood-Elf.

"It took _you_ long enough," he muttered darkly as Roth cut his ropes, freeing his hands, which burned for a minute.

Rothinzil wasted no time explaining or arguing, but ran over to where Aragorn lay. He slowed his steps before he stepped on the human. His eyes traced over Aragorn's body, mentally assessing him for the promised damage, but nothing could prepare him for the wound that he found. It had already been looked at and rudimentarily treated, but it still looked nasty and the Wood-Elf quickly turned his eyes to the ranger's face. It wasn't any more comforting and dropping to his knees, Roth held his hand less than a tenth of an inch over Aragorn's mouth and nose, checking for breathing. At first he felt nothing but and a thrill of fear made him clench up, but just before he was about to give up, a soft, barely felt breath wafted against the skin of his palm. Startled, Roth jerked his hand back and a surprised, but victorious smile spread on his face that was almost childish in its innocence. "He is alive!"

He slipped his hands under Aragorn's knees and behind the ranger's shoulders, mindful of his welts and other various wounds. Lifting Aragorn up off of the ground, he cradled the ranger close against his body, sharing his warmth in the process. Aragorn felt so cold.

Elrohir panicked at the sight of his fragile brother being moved. "What do you think you are you doing?" He rushed forward to relieve Roth of his burden but the Elf turned his back half way towards the twin to ward him off, allowing Elrohir to run into his good shoulder.

"Carrying him, what does it look like?" the warrior retorted, hugging Aragorn closer. The ranger stirred at the movement and Rothinzil fancied that the human's glazed eyes focused on his face for a moment before Aragorn inadvertently snuggled closer against him and was out again.

Elrohir couldn't help but feel a little jealous. That was his brother after all, and he wanted to be there for him and cuddle him close as he had not done in literally years. He glared expectantly at Rothinzil, who seemed remorseful. "I am sorry, but I promised my lord that no one else shall carry him."

"How about you don't and say you did?" Elrohir suggested, moving to accept Estel. He had obtained no hurt that was worse than anything Rothinzil had and he saw no reason why bearing his own brother should be withheld from him.

Rothinzil tried to smile deviously and said, "Or we don't mention any of this and see if Legolas even asks." He had no intention of keeping Estel away from his family and he was sure that if Legolas had thought Elrohir would be well enough, he would have wanted the younger twin to bear the human. He handed Aragorn carefully off to Elrohir, not relinquishing his support until he was sure that the ranger was secure in the other Elf's arms. Satisfied, he moved back a pace to give them room.

Elrohir frowned. "Where is Legolas?"

"In a heap on the ground. He insisted that I get Estel and carry him. I think he thought that you would be incapacitated." Roth looked alarmed. He needed to get back to the prince and gather him up before anything happened to him. The departing humans couldn't be too happy and Legolas was unprotected.

Elrohir shook his head. "I am afraid that I do not have his appetite for wounds and trouble."

Sighing he started back with Rothinzil, but the warrior outpaced him in his desperation to reach Legolas. Elrohir watched him rush ahead and a queasy feeling filled his stomach. He couldn't say for sure, but he doubted that Legolas thought he would be incapable of carrying Aragorn. Swallowing back cold fear, he began to wonder if Legolas had sent Roth away because he knew that he had to die.

**TBC….**

**Okay, I realize that this chapter is early, but it is because Tinlaure and I will not be home Friday or Saturday, and we were sure that you wouldn't object to an early post. ;) We are going to _Acquire the Fire_ in Muince Indiana with some friends. **

**But because time is short, review responses are going to have to be eliminated. Sorry, we both really are, but Tin and I simply have no time. The end of the quarter is next week and we have so much to do! And being away from home is a bit of inconvenience as well. LOL But honestly, we read and enjoyed every one of them! Thank you so much for all of them! We would love to hear from you again and hope to see your wonderful reviews in the inbox when we get back! ;) **

**Hmmm...and** **that's a bit of an evil cliffie too, isn't? HEY! You got an early post after all! LOL We know, we know, we should let you have your cake and eat it too... :D**


	12. Made to Shine On

_I Will Always Return_

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Made to Shine On

Of all the friends I've ever met,  
You're the one I won't forget.  
And if I die  
Before you do  
I'll go to heaven  
And wait for you  
I'll give the angels  
Back their wings  
And risk the loss  
Of everything  
Just to prove  
My friendship is true.

**Unknown (got it in an e-mail forward;)) **

The warrior skidded to halt, boots sliding on the grass, just before he almost tripped over the prince. Legolas had wound himself into a tighter ball than before and his arms were hugged against him. He was breathing but his breaths were shallow, erratic and spoke volumes of the great agony flaring through his body. The pain was setting him in bonds of its own.

Roth stared down at Legolas with wide eyes. His whole body was visibly shaking and he swallowed back tears. He was scared to touch his friend. Legolas had so many wounds and he was afraid to aggravate any of them and cause his friend further agony. More red accented the prince's mouth and Roth dropped to one knee at Legolas' head.

Legolas felt his friend's presence and cracked his eyes open carefully. He blinked rapidly when Roth's face appeared blurry the first time. Noticing that the warrior was empty-handed, Legolas' face contorted in alarm. Looking at Rothinzil with large, imploring eyes, the prince gasped, "Where…is Estel? Is he…"

Rothinzil quickly assured his friend with a quick shake of his head. "No, no…Elrohir has him, my friend." Prying one of Legolas' hands away, where the Elf had them hugged against his chest, Rothinzil laced his fingers with his friend's. Legolas was too tired to squeeze back and his hand was limp in Roth's warm grip. "I am to carry you, my lord."

Legolas tried to smile, and his lips twitched at the corners, but he could do no more. He simply did not possess the energy and his heart was too heavy to will a smile against his body's wishes as it had in times past. Roth's grip on Legolas' hand relented and the prince let it slide free, hitting the soft grass at his side. "Estel…was he unconscious?"

Rothinzil knew why Legolas was asking this and he wished that he had the heart to lie and say "no", but he did not. "Yes, my lord." In his heart, he knew Aragorn was standing at the brink of death. He could feel it in Legolas and he knew that even in his weakened, dazed state, Legolas recognized it too.

The Elf shuddered before he closed his eyes and squeezed them. They burned with pain and emotion and Roth saw a tear melt out of each corner. They ran back and trickled behind Legolas' pointed ears, becoming absorbed in his dirtied, bloodied hair, and leaving a silvery trail. Rothinzil looked away from his friend, and tenderly rolled Legolas onto his back before folding the prince's arms onto his chest. When he started to gather Legolas up, the prince opened his eyes. "It isn't fair," he croaked, staring past Rothinzil at the sky.

Rothinzil sympathized with his lord, but he was becoming frustrated. He had tried everything he could, and done everything he could and nothing had been enough. Legolas, whom he had always seen as being unbreakable, looked utterly crushed and was actually crying. It made him furious and confused, seeing his lord in a state where he could not be looked up to. Unable to bear it in silence, he found tears streaming down his face as he broke into a tirade. "I tried Legolas! All right? I did my best for you! I did! You have to believe me! I know it isn't fair! Valar take it! He is free now! Everything should be right!" He continued on and Legolas' tears stopped as he watched his friend.

Reaching up a trembling hand, he cupped the side of Roth's face. The warrior could feel the cold, frail fingers shaking against his cheek. The touch alone forced his mouth to close, but the tears continued to flow. "My dear Roth," Legolas murmured remorsefully. "I am sorry. You should have never had to witness this. You did no wrong…we owe you our lives…Don't…don't let this experience…change you…please Roth."

Rothinzil hiccupped slightly and his mouth trembled. He had heard warriors were supposed to be hard and impassive, but he was quickly finding that it was not so. He couldn't conquer this. "How can I not?" he whispered hoarsely, turning his lashes down in respect as Legolas brushed away his tears with a loving finger.

"See the good in everything...as you always have…because I cannot." Legolas' lips twitched in an attempt at a forced smile. Since smiling was a failure, he turned serious. "Promise me."

Rothinzil didn't lift his eyes. "As you wish, my lord."

Legolas frowned and set his hand back onto his abdomen, careful not to upset his wounds. "Promise me as a friend...and a brother."

Rothinzil nodded supportively. "I promise you, Legolas."

This time Legolas didn't have to force a smile, because it was genuine. "Good," he whispered, and then twisted his head to find Aragorn. He saw the ranger lying limply in the cradle of his brother's arms and took in the white features and lifeless expression of the face. His smile slipped away, and he continued watching the human. He saw Elrohir rush forward suddenly, trying not to jar Aragorn at the same time. The twin's face was contorted in alarm and then Legolas saw nothing and the pain simply stopped.

Roth panicked as he felt his friend's body melt against his, and all the tenseness flee Legolas' muscles. Rothinzil called frantically for Elrohir, terrified, even though he was already at his side. The son of Elrond was trying to balance Aragorn in his arms while one of his hands tried to take Legolas' pulse. He managed to clasp the thin, torn wrist between his fingers, but he took him minutes to detect a pulse. However, one minute it was there, and the next it wasn't, having gone beyond the ability to palpate.

"He lives," But Elrohir didn't say how long he thought that would last. Roth seemed reassured, willing to clasp onto any bit of hope, like a life preserver. He held Legolas close. Elrohir had already turned back around and was rushing Aragorn towards the new camp, where there would be some medical supplies. Roth quickly followed, doing his best to see the bright side. It was the last thing that Legolas had asked of him.

:0Ї0:

Legolas and Aragorn were spread out side by side on two blankets, their faces looking equally pale and sad. They looked older than they were, according to their individual races. Legolas looked as though he was a more than a few millennia old, and Aragorn looked immortal and perpetually cheerless. The dried blood stood out in sharp contrast to their paled features. The way their cheekbones jutted out and their eyes seemed sunken in made Roth feel sick.

However, a swarm of enthusiastic and terrified healers came to assist Elrohir in the cleansing and stitching of Aragorn's wound. Elrohir almost found too much help on his hands and was bordering on a nervous breakdown. Legolas was momentarily shoved aside and forgotten about in the haste to save Aragorn's life. Rothinzil grabbed a discarded blanket and draped it over Legolas' exposed form, tucking it closely around his friend's cold frame. He knew that if Aragorn was awake, he would have never allowed Legolas to be forgotten.

Elrohir turned from where he was tending fervidly to his brother and saw Rothinzil fretting over Legolas, smoothing his golden hair back and holding a one way conversation with him. Abandoning his supplies, he realized that the Wood-Elves had been marginalized, even if it wasn't deliberate. Walking over, he placed a hand on Roth's good shoulder. "I am sorry, Roth. I truly am. Here," he started to pull the coverlet away. "Let me help."

Rothinzil shook his head. "I know it was an accident. But, you have to see to your brother…he could die." Elrohir looked back towards the swarm of healers surrounding the young human.

"So could Legolas…and there are enough experienced healers over there." Elrohir stared back at the warrior. "I think we can patch him up again." He spoke to Roth as though he was an Elfling that had torn its teddy bear.

Rothinzil gave a hollow chuckle. "You speak like he is a ripped doll."

Elrohir grinned admittedly, but it looked pained. "I will be right back." He walked away and went over to the throng of healers to ask about water and some rags. He also inquired about some warm brandy. Legolas hated the brew, but it would help him feel better once he came around again.

When he returned, he helped Rothinzil wash Legolas to better expose his wounds and abrasions. The majority of the discoloration of Legolas' skin came from black and blue bruises and the dirt that came off only caused the undamaged parts to glow a sickly white. When Roth started to tenderly mop his face with a warm rag Legolas' eyes fluttered and he jerked when he saw the room. Turning his head, he saw healers with metal instruments as they worked on Aragorn and he panicked. "No! _Saes_…_saes_…" He couldn't take anymore, he just couldn't. He started to tremble and Roth hurriedly withdrew, speaking softly in Sindarin.

"Peace. You are safe, Legolas." He spoke as though to a friend and not his lord. He had been afraid that this would happen.

Elrohir shook his head and grabbed Legolas' hand. Squeezing it reassuringly, he promised, "It is well _mellon_ _nîn_. You have nothing to fear here." He could tell that Legolas had undergone horrible experiences with instruments, medical instruments, put to horrific use and he winced. Thankfully, the prince's injuries required very little work with such devices.

Legolas shivered and looked warily at all the men as they stopped to gaze at the wakened Elf. They kept their distance, but all the same, couldn't help but fulfil their curiosity. Feeling ashamed at his vulnerability as a spectacle, Legolas flushed and closed his eyes wearily. His shoulder was throbbing and he felt too weak to even move.

Elrohir left to shoo away the curious eyes while Rothinzil smiled down at his friend. "When your father hears of this, we are all dead."

Legolas didn't seem to hear him and instead he blinked and stared through his friend. Roth shivered at the emptiness behind his friend's dulled blue eyes. "Roth, don't let them use those…those tools on me." His voice sounded like a small child begging their parent not to snuff out the candle when he went to bed.

"They only mean to help you," Roth tried to help his friend see reason. Legolas didn't move, remembering places that Roth would never walk -Valar willing- and would never appreciate. "What did they do to you?" Roth's broken Sindarin pierced the haze of Legolas' black memories and the prince realized that he was trembling.

"Maybe you should ask: "What didn't they do to you?"" he whispered hoarsely. Seeing Roth's chin pucker as he fought back new tears, Legolas hurriedly changed the subject. "Where are we?"

Roth smiled dryly and his distress seemed to melt away. "In a makeshift camp of the Rohirrim." Elrohir returned and resumed scrubbing the dirt from Legolas' torso and chest, trying to be as gentle as possible. Legolas squirmed a little at the smarting touch, but was too tired to argue. Elrohir assessed the brand marks critically through a set of narrowed silver eyes. Infection boiled beneath the skin. Wincing inwardly, he set the cloth aside.

"Can you drink, Legolas?" He asked, going over to a small blanket stretched out on the ground. He selected a mug and his fingers curled around it as he brought it towards the prince.

Legolas pulled away warily and shifted slightly closer to Roth as though for protection (who immediately became defensive). "I don't want to be put into a stupor…"

Elrohir smiled reassuringly. "I don't have to. This will just help to relax your muscles…"

Legolas' eyes still shone with disapproval. To be honest, he couldn't even guarantee that he could keep any substance down long enough for it to take hold. Elrohir slipped his arm behind Legolas' shoulders and eased him up. Pressing the ceramic lip of the cup against the Elf's mouth, he tried to manipulate the prince into accepting it. Legolas pulled back, revolted at the aroma that greeted him. "What is that?" It smelled sour and sweet all at once and his stomach cart-wheeled.

"Brandy. And it is harmless in small doses, I promise you," Elrohir offered the cup again. He felt a sense of triumph when Legolas grudgingly accepted some of the liquid and swallowed after swishing it in his mouth a bit, trying out the flavour.

"This is disgusting," he protested, making a face. "It tastes like vomit."

"Nonetheless, you will finish it."

Legolas had been through so much worse that he decided not to argue over this trivial a matter, but Elrohir was going to regret it when he threw it up later. After draining the contents to the last drop, Legolas lay back down and sighed tiredly. He started to drift into unconsciousness to try and evade the churning of his stomach, but was snapped into full awareness as Elrohir started to try and drain the blisters of his brands.

"Stop, Legolas!" Elrohir's voice was firm and agitated. "You will get really sick otherwise." He selected a scalpel from roll of instruments and Legolas stiffened instinctively. Elrohir shook his head sympathetically. "I would never hurt you Legolas, but they have to be drained."

Legolas remained stiff, but didn't flinch at his friend's touch. He trusted Elrohir completely. The device needed was what he had problems with. Unable to watch as he felt Elrohir performing the necessary procedures, Legolas stared at the ceiling. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched spasmodically but he made no movement to stop the pain. And when it became too much for his weakened constitution to bear, he slid into the blissful void of unconsciousness.

:0Ї0:

Some hours later, when the procedure was completed, Legolas lay on his cot, swathed in bandages, greased with ointments and buried in blankets. His head was propped up by a rolled up cloak and he was staring blankly at the ceiling. For some bizarre reason, he was shivering and he felt detached from the world, like it pulsing. When he closed his eyes, colours danced around behind his eyelids.

Suddenly, the Elf jerked and shrank back as he felt something cold and wet applied to his forehead. A soft voice droned in his ears, "Shhh…Legolas, you are safe here. You have a fever. We must bring it down."

Legolas blinked vapidly, but his vision remained hazy at best. "R'in'il?" he questioned drowsily, reaching out towards the blurred face he saw in front of him. The warrior answered affirmatively, gently trapping his hand and holding it. "Good…where is…Estel?" Legolas continued in a drone, closing his eyes again. His body convulsed as he felt like his blood was freezing as it boiled.

Roth grimaced and his grip on Legolas' hand tightened. "Right beside you." The tightened hold caused pain and Legolas withdrew his hand. Rothinzil was alarmed that the prince had not noticed. But both Legolas and the ranger were bathed in the heat of fever. Legolas was bordering on delirium, Aragorn was unconscious. Seeing that Legolas was having trouble moving, Roth gently turned Legolas' head so that the prince could see Aragorn lying pale and unmoving next to him. Legolas saw his friend and shuddered as he reached out a frail hand towards the white appendage that lay on Aragorn's chest.

The adrenaline had left them both dry and feeling hollow, and their bodies' defences were down. Right now, both the Elf and ranger were at their most vulnerable. Even Legolas' renowned Elven immune system was having difficulties, having been drastically weakened and abused. Aragorn had extraordinary capabilities for a human that had often left Legolas shaking his head in awe, but now he seemed so frail and actually flimsy. He was obviously still battling for his life.

Roth tucked the blanket's edges around his prince and then moved to Aragorn. "Where 's 'Rohir?" Legolas asked, breathless after the simple words. There was a rattle to his breathing, which was shallow and barely sufficient.

Roth's brow creased as he scrutinized his prince with a critical, anxious eye. Legolas looked so worn out, with hollow dark places were his cheeks should be and bones exposed sharply under his eyes. His body had been far too light and easy to bear. "He is busy," Rothinzil answered simply. "He has…other problems." He didn't want to tell Legolas that right now, Elrohir was very scared and bordering on being terrified. Aragorn was not doing so well and even though he had responded to the treatment and his body was working to rebuild and fix itself, it didn't possess the energy. Legolas' body barely had what was needed and his wounds, though drained, had given him a fluctuating fever that had now reached its peak. Valar willing, it would break and not send him into a coma.

Legolas stared groggily at his friend's face and his drastically achromatic complexion that had developed a sort of sick translucency. Staring at his own hand that overlapped the ranger's, he realized that he himself was just as pallid. They were dying. Swallowing back tears as he realized how much he missed his home, the prince whispered, "I am cold."

Rothinzil didn't move, but the unnatural lines of anxiety in his face became more pronounced. "I am sorry, we have no more blankets." His apology was soft and he wished he could hold Legolas close, and share body warmth. However, Legolas' broken ribs would cause him excruciating pain if jolted suddenly.

Elrohir ducked through the tent flap and came in carrying some dried branches and other things for kindling. Legolas had not bothered to notice the small fire that kept warm air circulating in the tent. Dropping the kindling on the ground, Elrohir side-stepped Roth and crouched first by Legolas, checking his pulse and smoothing back his hair as he removed the sweat-warmed rag from the prince's forehead. Legolas' pulse was steady, but slow and not very strong. He had lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure was still very low, accounting for a lot of his light-headedness.

He then checked on Aragorn and frowned with discontent. The ranger's pulse was erratic and barely palpable. Of course that was to be expected from someone who just got stabbed in the abdomen with a knife, but Elrohir had been hoping his ministrations would have had a greater affect. As a matter of fact, he had _expected_ to see more improvement. Sighing, he sat back on his heels and observed as Legolas tiredly closed his eyes and slipped deeper into his delirium.

"We can't move them yet," Roth protested after hearing Elrohir's assessment and the plans for the next few hours that would run into the next day. "It is too dangerous!"

Elrohir glowered unenthusiastically at his friend. "If we don't, we won't have better facilities to help them when the fever breaks, or anymore medicines. Besides, these wounds are beyond my expertise. There are wounds made by no weapon, Rothinzil." He shook his head and sat down on the ground next to the warrior. Both of them watched their friends dozing motionlessly. "We cannot know a tenth of what they were forced to endure these past few years."

Rothinzil shook his head and did his best to disguise a jaw-popping yawn. He had not taken food, nor slept and he couldn't remember whether he had drunk anything in the past twenty-four hours or not. He had his doubts though. Elrohir noticed and studied him quizzically. "You need sleep."

"And you're a hypocrite." Roth's grumpy retort was to be expected.

"Someone has to stay up with them, someone with more than a rudimentary grasp on healing," Elrohir reasoned, biting back a yawn. Elladan would certainly not approve. He would be telling Elrohir and Roth to go rest while he took the burden upon himself. Ah, well, it was a good thing that he wasn't here then. "Roth, you couldn't prop up your eyelids if Morgoth threatened you with death." At last, exasperated by the warrior's repeated denial, Elrohir exerted his authority over the other Elf. "I am older than you and I am an Elf-lord. I deserve respect and obedience. _You are going to rest_."

Roth glared daggers and his hazel eyes suddenly seemed more awake than they had for the past few hours. "Yes _Nana_," his tone was surly and irritated. Elrohir was the last person he had ever expected this from and he was a little hurt.

Elrohir didn't return the glare. Roth followed the invisible line originating from his eyes to discover that the younger twin was enraptured by the rising and falling of Aragorn's chest, the only visible sign of life. Noticing Roth closely studying his face, Elrohir frowned disconcertingly, "I am just a little worried." All his hopes could be dashed this evening. "Get _some_ sleep."

Roth's face was unreadable and he nodded, slinking away to a corner of the tent where a blanket was stretched out on the ground. The heat of the fire had made the room exceptionally warm and he required nothing other than a place to lie down. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn't rest and he continued to fidget and toss around for several minutes before settling on a position that wasn't perfect, but was going to have to suffice. He could still see Legolas from where he lay and his eyes remained riveted on his friend, hoping and praying that against all odds they would be able to return home together. Placing a hand under his cheek, he gave his head some support since they lacked pillows. He couldn't believe that either of his friends was meant to die here.

Sighing, he knew that he would find no rest. His body craved sleep but his nerves were on fire and in tight knots. Elrohir was still enraptured by the steady breathing of Aragorn, so he didn't notice when Rothinzil slipped under the tent's edge.

:0Ї0:

Thengel sat in his tent, alone. He had been indisposed as well as inconsolable since they had arrived and he had looked after his men. True he was king, but that didn't make him any less susceptible to feelings of guilt and pain. This was his entire fault. He had been weak and not protected his people, they had sought protection elsewhere. He was a failure.

A noise at the tent's flap caught his attention and he straightened himself before commanding, "Enter." He may not be feeling worthy of dignity, but it was expected for him to be presentable. His jaw nearly dropped as Rothinzil ducked in, bowing slightly before him. King Thengel winced inwardly, wondering how he could have possibly earned this Elf's respect. After all, Roth's friends had been caught and tortured because of his errors.

"My lord," the warrior addressed politely, straightening up. He stared the king straight in the eyes. The regent diverted his gaze, taking a keen interest in the grassy floor. He couldn't endure the clear hazel eyes that seemed to see right through his very essence, especially after all the horrible events. He had heard Elves had terrible eyes that broke through your core, but he had never truly experienced them until now.

"Master Rothinzil," the king acknowledged softly, beckoning the Elf to take a seat beside him. Rothinzil politely declined. He was on edge and he knew that he would fidget. "How are your prince and friend?" the man asked, looking sadly at the Elf.

Rothinzil didn't speak for a moment and Thengel wondered if he had come to convey news of their deaths. He didn't have very high expectations for their survival. They had simply been through too much too fast, even if the legends of Elves' healing capabilities were true. And Aragorn didn't even have that in his favour. "They are very ill, my lord." His voice was soft.

Surprised, but still worried, the king only nodded. "Why did you come here?" He would have thought that he would be the last person the Elf would want to talk to.

Roth looked uncomfortable. He was still apprehensive about men…at least ones he didn't know and came from a foreign culture. "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't blame yourself...or do something else ridiculous. And…it weighs on you in that tent. It is so…still…" Roth shuddered openly and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

Silence hung damply in the air…such suffocating silence.

Roth stared at him. "You should know that you aren't held responsible. Prince Legolas and Thorongil always get themselves into this sort of mischief," he added lastly to try and lighten the dark and forbidding mood.

"Best friends?" Thengel inquired, smiling thinly when Roth nodded. "This is strange in a man and Elf."

Roth's smile broadened slightly, and actually reached his eyes. "That is exactly what King Thranduil said at first." Rothinzil's expression became distant. It all seemed so long ago.

The king looked quizzically at the Elf. "How old is your prince?"

Roth smirked slightly at the question, showing the two small dimples at his mouth's corners. "Over two thousand years old."

Thengel's eyes couldn't have gotten any bigger. "Surely you jest Master Elf." But to be honest, he couldn't see the warrior jesting in a time this serious.

"No, my lord, I don't." He looked down at his boots and the grass, before bringing his chin back up and holding the king's gaze. "Elves are immortal, my lord." Legolas might not live to even reach what could be considered an elder Elf. Thranduil was already devastated. If Legolas died, Rothinzil knew that he could never go back and relive all the familiarities about what once was and what would be no more. He would retire from service, and he would live with Helliun and their children in the Lake Town.

Thengel must have read some of Roth's thoughts, and he apologized softly. "I am truly sorry, Master Rothinzil."

Roth shook his head negatively. "You made a mistake, my lord, but you set things right. Your people are saved." All the same, he had to admit that before he had actually known the king, he had been ready to find him and wring his neck. Right now, he felt sorry for him, even though that too was difficult to admit.

Thengel sighed and shook his head, breaking eye contact with the Elf. "For now, but that will change. Sauron doesn't easily forget those who break his trust. His vengeance on us will be great." He looked back up and stared cryptically at Rothinzil, who felt awkward under his searching stare. "You and your people are wise. Can you not tell me what will become of this?" His voice sounded hopeless and Roth grimaced slightly.

"I am afraid that those who could tell you are ones far wiser than me," the dark-haired Elf explained gently. "But trust me; I hardly think that you will live to see it."

The king found no comfort in his words. "So the mistakes of my reign will decide the course of my son's?"

Roth couldn't look him in the eye for a moment, feeling sick to his stomach. He also felt a bit guilty since he was no soothsayer and not even considered to be an aged Elf. "I should think so, my lord." He shifted and his clear hazel eyes caught and held the mortal's. "We all wish we could go back in time at some point or other, my lord. But the fact is that we can't. We just have to correct things to the best of our ability, teach others better, and move on."

"Master Elf, there is no comfort in your words." His voice was dejected and he ran his hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat before changing the subject. "When does Lord Elrohir feel Prince Legolas and Captain Thorongil will be strong enough for travel?"

"As soon as possible, my lord," Rothinzil admitted grudgingly. He didn't want Legolas made vulnerable to the injuries and stress of travel just yet. He was still broiling in his own skin from fever and the ride would be nothing short of misery.

"Go and get some rest, Master Rothinzil," the king commanded kindly, noting the dark circles that accented the Elf's eyes. "You look exhausted."

Rothinzil knew that he must look horrible if even the king was ordering him to rest. Sighing inwardly, he nodded and took his leave. "Good evening and good night to you, my lord." Ducking out of the tent, he made his way through the maze of tents and campfires back to their own.

When he slipped in, he was still unnoticed. Elrohir was watching both Aragorn and Legolas was a frightening intensity and seemed immune to all else in the room. If his bedroll had spontaneously combusted, Rothinzil doubted the twin would have noticed. Aware of how his body was suddenly throbbing with fatigue and pain, Rothinzil crept back to his blanket and lay down. He eventually fell asleep only minutes later, watching Elrohir until his eyelids slid closed and his breathing evened out.

If Elrohir would have turned around and seen Roth's face, which had smoothed out peacefully, he would have thought he looked at an Elfling of only two hundred summers. He was keeping his promise to Legolas, and was fighting the change these last days of darkness were working in him.

**TBC…**

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	13. A Long Awaited Reunion

_I Will Always Return_

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

A Long Awaited Reunion

Elladan sat with his back against the pole of the tent, resting. He had stopped trying to follow his brother and friend. It wasn't easy for him to admit defeat, but here it was impossible not to. Sighing, he pressed the back of his head against the pole, looking pleadingly heavenwards, as though seeing through the tent roof.

Normally leaning against a tent pole was not a good idea, even in a well constructed and sturdy tent, but this case was an exception. Elladan was thin and frail looking, as though the smallest tap might shatter him. As a matter of fact, he gave a Barrow-Wight a good bit of competitionfor the title of the"most weightless being in all worlds".

He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't think coherently…he was simply existing, caught somewhere between the Halls of Mandos and Hell. He couldn't find an escape route and even if he did, he was sure that he would be far too weary to drag himself more than a few tenths of a centimetre. And that was if he was lucky and found some reserve energy somewhere. He felt as though he was made of lead and was sinking slowly in a deep, deep, pool of cold molasses. Helpless.

At first he had tried to deny the situation, but that had become tiresome and it was so much easier to simply accept. Reacting stole so much energy from him.

Elladan may have resembled a wraith, but the boy was putting on weight already. Just a few days of kindness, a friend, and a role model had worked wonders in his complexion and demeanour. His face was looking brighter and fuller and his clothes didn't hang on him like he was some sort of clothes hanger.

Elladan smiled down at him affectionately, feeling the young human leaning against his side and snuggling against him. His small movements were hardly disturbing to Elladan's wound and his face took on a lost expression. The child suddenly seemed to bear a very strong resemblance to Estel and the innocence he had once seen so radiantly in his younger brother. His smile turned sad as he realized that this boy was almost grown, he would change. The only person he saw as being perpetually innocent was Rothinzil, because he never let a situation change him. His heart was _always_ going to be pure, especially since Helluin had sealed it.

Suddenly, he sat up slightly, rousing the youth at his side, who lifted his head and blinked blearily. Bringing his world into focus, he stared up questioningly at the Elf he had come to see as a brother and protector in these last few days. "Elladan…what is happening?" His sleep laden voice trailed off as he yawned openly.

Elladan frowned, but didn't look down at the youth. "I –I don't know." If the child had known him, he would have laughed uproariously. Elladan never, ever, under any circumstances, let on that he knew absolutely nothing. If Elrohir were here or Estel they would –oh, Eru, but they weren't here, Elladan remembered somewhat dreamily.

"Elladan, there is horses!" The boy's voice was more coherent and he struggled up, putting most of his weight on his good leg. The youth swayed and then stabilized himself by clutching a sturdy looking tent pole.

Elladan felt the ground vibrating, and his Elven hearing picked up the nickering of the animals. However, it all seemed to be a adding to this horrible nasty dream that he couldn't wake from, no matter how hard he tried. There was a box, he realized, and he was locked in it and was slowly suffocating. There was no air, no relief, no light, only sounds: horses, wind, grasses shifting, and voices cutting like knives through his haze. No matter how many times his fists pummelled against the sides of the cube he was still trapped inside and he seemed to only hurt himself. Who had ever thought a box could play so unfair?

Looking up at the boy with an almost pleading expression softening his eyes, he asked softly, "Help me up?" He looked like a child staring searchingly at his mother through a nightmarish haze.

The youth considered him, obviously hesitating. "T-that didn't work out too well before…you need to rest."

Elladan glared adamantly. "_Penneth_, if you do not help me up I will do it myself!"

There was nothing that the poor boy could do, except try by every means possible to persuade the Elf to remain seated…on the ground where there was precious little chance for falling.

When nothing proved effective, the boy planted his hands on the Elf's shoulders and pressed downward. This was horribly sad, Elladan realized as he admitted to himself that he had been pinned down by a scrawny boy. Oh yes, this was a sad state of affairs indeed…

"You are going to hurt yourself, Elladan!" he pleaded desperately as the Elf squirmed in his grip, motivated by the encroaching sounds of the riders. The sounds of the horses snorted and pawing as they thundered into the small camp resounded in his head and seemed to vibrate in his body. But that blasted box was still trapping him…despair, pain, confusion, regret…so many emotions had been boxed up with him.

Yes, he knew that he was going to hurt himself, but that didn't really matter. He was dying anyway, was he not? Elladan stopped arguing and fighting as he heard a soft rustling sound and a blast of cool air barrelled through the room as the tent flap was thrust open.

Rothinzil poked his head around it, staring anxiously around. "We're back, Elladan." His voice was soft and it looked as though he had cried at one point. His hair was tussled and his soft hazel eyes were bleary with lack of sleep. It looked as though the word enthusiasm was not only eliminated from his vocabulary but from his entire being. He also looked a bit thinner than Elladan had last remembered him being.

Blinking, Roth observed the boy restraining the dark-haired Elf and smiled sympathetically around a yawn. He wished the child the best of luck. He was trying to accomplish something that no healer had been able to perform. Backing away, he held the tent flap open long enough to Legolas and Aragorn to be carried in on their stretchers.

Both were fast asleep…at least it looked like sleep, but Elladan couldn't be certain.

"Elrohir?" he whispered quietly into the air, crestfallen. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and leaned against the tent pole, trying to fathom what had just happened. His brother had not returned.

The boy just gulped quietly and slumped down beside the elder twin, comfortingly leaning against him. He had escaped pain, had he not? His father was no longer oppressing him. He had found a mentor and friend. Why did everyone he cared about get hurt? This just wasn't fair! Images of his dead mother skipped through his head, the pain only enhanced by the frustration of the moment. While resting and watching over Elladan, the elder twin had told him of Amras and Amrod, Noldorian twins who had met their end together at the battle of the Mouths of Sirion during the First Age. At least they had died together…but if Elrohir was dead, that meant that he and his brother, who was practically the other half of his soul, were parted.

"Elladan," a calm, tired voice called warmly from the tent door.

Elrohir smiled weakly, his proud shoulders were slumped with exhaustion. It had been all he could do to keep Legolas and Aragorn alive during their journey here and he had not slept since their liberation from their captors.

Elladan's eyes opened slowly, one at a time, as though he was afraid of the possibility that this was all an illusion wrought of his false hope and high-strung emotions. "It can't be you, you must be dead."

"Well I know I am somewhat lacking in colour, _gwador_ _nîn_, and I may feel dead, but I am most certainly alive." The boy stared at the other Elf and taking a clue, stood up and provided Elrohir with room to sit and wrap his arms around his elder brother.

Elladan lingered in the warm, real, palpable, true, pure embrace of his brother that could be nothing other than genuine. Elrohir buried his nose in his brother's hair and held him close, mindful of his wound. He felt his brother's hand settle over his heart and press gently against his chest, feeling for his heart beat.

Elladan's voice was weak, but alarmed. "Your heart is racing." Now he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was his twin in flesh and blood.

Elrohir nodded, resting his chin on his elder brother's head. "I was scared. I was afraid you might die while I was gone." He closed his eyes. "Scared" or "afraid" were both horrible understatements. He had been terrified almost beyond reason.

"You know me…too stubborn to quit," Elladan murmured, leaning into his brother.

"I have never been more grateful for that quality in you, rest assured," Elrohir teased, attempting to restore some of the jesting that was his trademark. He wanted things to return to normal as quickly as possible, and even if this was a little step, it was still a step. Never again would he tempt the Valar by admitting that he was bored. He would warn Legolas and Aragorn that it was not a good idea as well. One more misadventure like this he knew he would either age before his time or meet Mandos up close and personal, neither of which sounded overly appealing.

Elladan attempted a chuckle that quickly turned into a raspy cough. "Why are they so pale?" he managed between wheezes.

Elrohir continued holding Elladan close and the elder Elf felt his brother's breathing pause. Elrohir let it out into a long sigh that warmed Elladan's hair so that Elladan looked up at him, slightly annoyed. "They have achieved the impossible again –and eluded death by the skin of their teeth after dancing a jig in front of it and flaunting the fact that they are still alive in its face. Despite its best attempts, they are holding on."

He pushed away from Elladan and observed him from arm's length. "What happened to Estel?" Elladan asked, making an attempt to elude his brother's grasp and stand on his own power. He failed miserably.

Elrohir swallowed. "He was stabbed in the abdomen."

Elladan immediately tensed. A fool would know that getting stabbed in the abdominal area was extremely bad, but a healer knew more than that. A healer knew why. Elladan was, of course, trained in the healing arts, with more than half of the credit going to Elrond for his instruction. Forgetting that Elrohir had taken the same training, he lashed out, "You have to let me see him! What have you done so far-"

"All that is possible considering the circumstances. I am his older brother too." Elrohir couldn't help but feel a bit hurt.

"You will not keep me from seeing him!" Elladan warned in a low voice.

"He will be fine, I can assure you both," a barely audible voice interjected calmly from the stretcher.

Elrohir whirled around and Elladan peered in shock over his shoulder. "I thought I had drugged you!" the younger twin exclaimed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Legolas smiled deviously, at least as devious as he was able given the circumstances. "Somehow your concoction eluded me."

"I don't know what surprises me more," Elrohir growled, "the fact that you were able to avoid being drugged or the fact that you have been sleeping on your own power."

"This time there is no denying that I am most definitely not fine," Legolas replied smoothly, closing his eyes. His fingers that held Aragorn's wrist monitored the man's pulse closely. He couldn't recall but one other time when he had been in decidedly worse shape.

Now Elrohir was speechless. Legolas had admitted to being unwell. What was next? Flying pigs? The Nazgúl turning over a new leaf? "That is true, but what makes you think that Aragorn is going to be fine? Your illness has made you delusional."

Legolas smiled, pulling back his unnaturally thin looking lips that seemed anything but a healthy colour. "I have been…monitoring his pulse." Elrohir had thought that his face could not look anymore incredulous, but he knew that he was wrong when he raised _both _of his brows nearly into his hair line. "Well it is a better way to spend time…then trying to count sheep …and twice as reassuring."

"You are never going to cease to amaze me, are you?" Elrohir asked darkly, irritated.

"No," Legolas agreed quietly. "Never."

Elrohir nodded tiredly. "That is what I thought." Elladan just smiled. Legolas may be a nutcase at times, he decided inwardly, but he was the most loyal nutcase that he had ever met –and he had met a lot of nutcases. Legolas was numbered among the few that didn't fall under the categories of psychotic or monomaniac.

Elrohir was moving to tend to Aragorn and change his dressings when Roth brushed through the tent flap, his arms full of a heaping mound of bandages. "I thought we might need these."

"How very perceptive," Elrohir muttered a bit sarcastically.

"I got them from the healers," Roth continued on as though Elrohir had never said a single word. "However they refuse to come in here…something about Elladan being unreasonable and insufferable."

Shaking his head as he pulled aside the cloak covering Aragorn, Elrohir mumbled, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Rothinzil smiled wryly. "I was just asking myself the same question."

Elladan refused to be baited and frowned, closing his eyes wearily. He was considering lying down, _only_ considering mind you, but the choice was made for him. Rothinzil dumped his load of bandages beside Aragorn and Legolas before grabbing Elladan's shoulders and easing the other Elf to the ground. "Now who is being…insufferable?" the elder twin questioned sarcastically, and stared up at the warrior.

Rothinzil just flashed a guilty grin. "They never complained about me though."

Elladan shifted and he followed Roth with his eyes as the warrior went to Legolas' side. "That is obviously because they hardly know you at all."

Roth glowered scathingly at Elladan as he crouched to the ground. "You wound me, Lord Elladan."

The boy who had remained silent until now ventured a small snicker. Roth smiled appreciatively. "Well Elladan wasn't so bad…" the boy jested good-naturedly with the Elves, "…when he was sleeping."

Elladan looked completely indignant and stared disbelievingly at the youth. First of all, the scrawny creature had barely spoken ten words together through the entire time here, and secondly…he had always seemed so nice!

Roth nodded approvingly. "That I do believe."

Finally, Legolas intervened weakly. "I don't mean to interrupt your …game of Elladan-baiting, but…I think the…priorities need to be …considered here."

Roth looked appalled at his own behaviour and flushed a dark red, so that he could have been mistaken for having severe sunburn. "Sorry, my lord!"

"See if you can't go ahead...and put him…out, Roth," Elladan requested seriously from his blanket.

Roth seemed uncomfortable with the idea and Legolas gave him a forbidding scowl that promised a slow, aggravated death if he attempted anything close to that idea. Shuddering inwardly, Roth shook his head. "I choose life," he explained to Elladan.

There was a small sound that sounded suspiciously like a snicker from the pallet and Roth's flush spread to the tips of his leaf-shaped ears. Irritated, he ignored Elladan and pulled the cloak that served as a light coverlet away from Legolas' chest and abdomen to reveal the multiple bandages and ugly bruises. Wincing inwardly with sympathy, the warrior applied his fingers to the old dressings and gently began to pull them free and unwind them. Legolas suddenly tensed and Roth jerked back, stammering apologies. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Legolas grimaced and shrank away from the other Elf. "Your hands are cold," he whined seriously, eyeing Roth darkly. "Are you all right?"

"No, not really, my lord," Rothinzil answered dolefully as he pulled off the blood-wetted linen strips, careful not to upset the raw skin beneath them. He grimaced as he saw the abrasions seeping blood along with other disagreeable fluids. "I am worried about you."

He cleared his throat in a way that sounded suspiciously like he was hiding a cough. Faint annoyance and _maybe _pain crossed his face but he blinked it away. Concerned, Legolas reached out a hand and caught Roth's forearm. "Are you sure that you are fine?"

Roth smiled reassuringly. "Of course, my lord! It's just a small cough –I don't understand how I got it," he admitted as an afterthought. He applied more smelly ointments to Legolas' wounds and swathed him in fresh bandages.

Legolas continued to stare at him expectantly and Roth frowned. "If you expect me to kiss you good-night you are going to be sorely disappointed."

Legolas arched a brow and then shook his head so minutely that it was barely noticeable. "No, don't be ridiculous!" Turning completely serious, he narrowed his eyes demandingly. "I know about your wrist and you are going to let Elrohir see to it when he is finished with Aragorn."

Roth gapped, flabbergasted. "I must protest…my wrist is fine and of no importance anyway, my lord!"

Legolas had grabbed hold if it gently and he undid the buttons of Roth's tunic cuffs, revealing a dark bruise on the underside of the wrist where the man had stomped on it. "It is …important to me, Roth! …You will have it looked at!"

Roth nodded hesitantly. "As you wish, my lord." He withdrew his arm from Legolas' grip and awkwardly buttoned the cuffs again with his left hand –or at least he tried to. His fingers fumbled with them and Legolas swatted his hand away as though it was a blood-sucking insect. His white fingers shakily buttoned the cuff back up and Roth smiled thinly. "Thank you, my lord."

Legolas returned to smile, though it was weaker. "It is the least I can do. You came for me and Strider. You could have been killed…I know you were shot! We owe you and Strider's brothers with our lives."

Roth pulled his legs out from underneath him and sat down crossed-legged by Legolas' head. Putting his elbows on his knees, he cupped his chin in his hands and sighed quietly with discontent. He missed Helluin.

Elrohir was looking sorrowfully at Aragorn's deep, ugly wound. Thankfully, the less than likeable man who had stabbed him was not intelligent enough to poison it, but it was perfectly capable of being evil all on its own. Gently, ever so gently, rinsed the wound thoroughly with lukewarm water and applied some soothing ointments to the hot, inflamed flesh around the wound. Aragorn moaned in response and a full body shudder wracked his frame so that Elrohir drew back in alarm.

Legolas turned his head and looked concernedly at Aragorn, blinking to clear the blurry image of his friend's white face. Suddenly he smiled slightly, and Elrohir followed his gaze to Aragorn's lips. They were turning a warm, but pale red and gradually getting darker. He was getting better.

Legolas fingers groped for Aragorn's wrist and he gently touched the inflamed skin, feeling for the murmuring pulse that fluttered beneath. He found it, slow and sure and his smile broadened. It was gaining strength. "He is going to live, _mellon nîn_."

"Couldn't…leave the…stup'd…woo'elf…to…kill 'mself," Aragorn murmured weakly, his lips barely moving to articulate the words. The sentence was his way of saying what Legolas had just said. That everything was going to be all right. That he was going to live and that no one need fear.

Elrohir's face lit up radiantly at the meagre words and Elladan lifted his head to look at where his human brother lay. Roth jerked his head up and Legolas merely smiled knowingly. The boy jumped slightly and then grinned.

That was when Roth knew that everything was going to be all right. Soon Estel would return home and soon everything that was so terribly wrong would be set right. He knew it.

**TBC...**

**Oh, they** **are back together...or are they? Hmmmm... And what is so terribly wrong? Eh? Yes, yes, we are evil. We know. :Grins from behind baracade made completely of tea boxes: **

**Please review! We loved your reviews from the last chapter, as always they were so encouraging and wonderful! Thanks a million everyone! (((hugs))) We tried to respond to them all, but if you were missed and left an e-mail or were signed in, please let us know! We promise that it was never** **intentional! ;)**

**Quick note:** The title of the chapter was inspired by the chapter in The Fellowship of the Ring called "A Long Expected Party". We just thought it would make the chapter more..."Tolkien-ish". LOL


	14. Written in Red

_I Will Always Return _

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Written in Red 

The camp fire had died down, but no one was sleeping. Tomorrow, they would enter beneath the eaves of Mirkwood and start their trek up, towards the Palace of the Wood-Elves. Legolas turned slowly on his pallet, trying not to aggravate his healing injuries. Sighing heavily, he stared at the dying embers, watching as their warm glow died and left the world feeling so cold and dark. Winter was coming. There were no fireflies and the stars were veiled.

They had left Rohan only recently and had been treading carefully ever since. They were now in Rhûn, and it had not left them with very pleasant memories in the past. Legolas shuddered. His lips twitched. What Elladan was going to do without the boy was beyond him, or even stranger, what the boy was going to do without Elladan. He had been adopted into a nice family that were personal friends of the King himself, so the youth would be –oh yes, Legolas recalled –the boy had a name now, Voronwë, after the prince's dead cousin who had been loyal to the end, even when his father had been terribly insane and cruel. Shrugging mentally, the Elf completed his earlier thoughts and reminded himself that nameless or not, Voronwë was going to be well off now.

Aragorn felt his friend fidgeting and turning restlessly next to him. He tolerated it for a few minutes but then was unable to stand any more. Rolling over so that he was looking at the Elf, he reached his hand out, finding the prince's and catching it up in his own. Legolas' hand was clenched and Aragorn frowned, rubbing his thumb along the back of it soothingly. "Are you all right? Do your wounds pain you Legolas?"

Legolas was quiet for a minute. "No."

Aragorn pried the prince's fingers apart so that that he could lace his fingers through them. Legolas pulled free and demonstratively put his back to his friend. Aragorn swallowed as he realized that Legolas was drawing into himself again, just like he had done after Harad, only more so. "Legolas-"

"Please, Estel. Don't talk to me," Legolas requested softly, pulling further away from the ranger. Aragorn didn't know it, but Legolas had to say good-bye to him here and he didn't want to make it harder than it was already going to be. He couldn't ask the ranger to return to his home with him. Everything that had happened there was not Aragorn's fault, but he feared the ranger would be blamed anyway. He could not let his friend be held responsible and perhaps killed, for the mistakes that _he_ made. He had already made his mind up on this and he wasn't going to change it. Moreover, Aragorn's own home needed him. The ranger had a family and if he didn't return to his home soon then he would never be able to. Legolas often was scared by how freely Aragorn gave things, he had didn't want the ranger to give more than he had.

He was going to take Rothinzil and leave this night, as soon as the ranger was asleep.

Aragorn was stunned and hurt by Legolas' actions and he stared at where he knew the Elf lay. "Legolas-" He tried again.

"Estel _please_?" Legolas' tone bordered on begging.

Aragorn recognized the desperation of his friend's voice and immediately relented, pulled his blankets up to his chin and relaxed into his bed roll. He was hurt, and slightly angered, and above all confused. He didn't understand why his friend sounded so hurt and didn't want to talk to him. He was afraid it was something that he had done. Unable to sleep, he continued to stare at where Legolas lay, but the prince didn't fidget anymore.

The soft rhythmic breathing of the other Elves told Aragorn that they were asleep now and he was glad. Only Legolas' breathing remained uneven and every now and then he heard the prince sigh. Out of no where, the Elf murmured, "How is your wound?"

Startled by the change in Legolas' demeanour, Aragorn sat half way up, propping himself on an elbow. His other hand rested over the side of his abdomen, where the knife had been thrust not too long ago. "It still hurts every now and then."

Legolas closed his eyes, but made to move to turn and look at the ranger. "I am sorry to hear that." /_I wish that I could stay and help you/_, he thought in the back of his mind so that Aragorn wouldn't be able to read his thoughts. He was glad that the darkness was filling in the spaces around the camp. The ranger wouldn't be able to read his eyes or his face. "Is there something I can do?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, _mellon nîn_."

Legolas sighed sadly. That was what he had thought. He hated to leave Aragorn in this state. He knew that striking up this conversation wasn't going to make their parting any easier. On the other hand, he knew that Aragorn would feel hurt and angry if he didn't talk to him. If something happened and he never got the chance to see the ranger again, he didn't want their last memory together to be that he had shunned the ranger. "I am sorry."

Aragorn shook his head and once again tried to move closer to the Elf. He knew that Legolas felt lonely, but he didn't know why the Elf was rejecting his companionship. He was beginning to wonder if maybe those men had done more to Legolas than he had known. The Elf had seemed as well as was to be expected during their stay at Edoras.

"Go to sleep, Estel. You need your rest," Legolas chided gently, finally rolling over and propping himself up on an elbow so that he could see his friend. He was trying to put the ranger at ease and let him know that he wasn't even remotely angry.

Aragorn reluctantly lay back down, but he continued to look in the prince's direction. He could sense that something was terribly wrong, but he didn't know what.

"I am serious. You need your sleep. I cannot sleep tonight, so I will keep watch," Legolas insisted, knowing that Aragorn was still awake.

"Was it something I did, Legolas?" Aragorn asked quietly, looking up at the cold sky as he held his hand over his wound. There were no stars. He knew that Legolas must miss them dearly.

"No." Legolas' reply was soft and immediate. He knew that a reluctant answer would have the same effect of saying "yes". "Now get some sleep!"

Aragorn snorted in derision and closed his eyes, because in all honesty, he was too tired to argue. Legolas was right. He needed his sleep. He would have to talk to Legolas more in the morning. Things could wait until then.

Legolas waited until he heard the ranger's breathing even out and a soft snore before he started to move. He couldn't help but feel like a backstabber. Cautiously, so he wouldn't wake Aragorn or cause his healing ribs pain, Legolas rose to his knees and started to roll up his pallet. Aragorn's arm had been out flung in his sleep and his hand rested on the blanket. Legolas tenderly took it, and kissed it before setting it carefully on Aragorn's chest. "Be at peace, _mellon nîn_."

Aragorn smiled trustingly in the dark as he subconsciously felt the love of his friend, but he didn't wake up. If anything, he settled into a deeper sleep, feeling safer.

Legolas scuffled around, trying to be as quiet as possible. He knew roughly where everyone was sleeping around the camp and so he was sure not to step on anyone. All the same, he exercised caution.

"Roth," he hissed in the direction of the warrior, who was sleeping close by. "Wake up, it is time."

It took him a moment to raise the warrior, as Roth was insufferable when being woken out of a deep sleep. Finally he managed to get his friend up and all their supplies packed. However, the nickering of a horse gave away their plans. There was one who was not sleeping.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

"Elladan?" Legolas questioned, relieved that it wasn't Estel but still a bit apprehensive. He didn't know how the elder twin was going to react to this. Roth stiffened at his friend's side.

"Where are you going?" the son of Elrond repeated softly.

"Home. Estel cannot come with me, you have to understand," Legolas immediately became defensive.

Elladan closed his eyes, since it was dark anyway and neither of them could see each other. "Legolas, you know that he will _never_ understand. Do you realize how hurt he is going to be?"

Legolas was quiet for a minute, considering his next words carefully. "Yes," his voice was soft and laced with remorse. But Elladan just couldn't appreciate the severity of the situation.

Elladan wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious, but he knew that for Legolas to willingly hurt Estel, then the alternative must be worse. "You are trying to protect him, aren't you?"

Legolas answered affirmatively. "And I can't do that if he comes with me. _Ada_ isn't going to be in his right mind. I have been feeling it the closer I have come to my home. Things have changed. If Estel is blamed… then I can't say what will happen. The further away he is from my home, the better. There is a good chance he will be held blameless, but I can't promise that." In truth, Legolas had just fully begun to understand the danger that he was walking into. There was a chance he could be held accountable for his actions and if the penalty was great, then he would rather that Aragorn wasn't around to interfere and try to dissuade his father.

Elladan had been very receptive and approachable thus far and Legolas was grateful. He didn't feel like he could stand an argument right now and he was very glad that Elladan wasn't trying to give him advice. All he wanted was someone to listen. "Do you think that the Rivendell Elves will hold him accountable?" Legolas asked after a moment.

Elladan didn't answer right away. "Probably not. Maybe a little. At the moment, I think they are angrier with father."

"I still cannot say that is any better," Legolas replied dispassionately. He was too drained to have much more noticeable emotion. The results of their misadventure still had him bled white of sentiment. "Promise me that you will keep him safe. You know how he can be. Don't let him be blamed, it wasn't his fault."

Elladan frowned. "I know. Believe me, I am one of the few who knows." Looking in Legolas' direction, he knew the prince was chafing at the delay their conversation was causing. "Take care, my friend."

Legolas smiled in the dark. "You too." He started to guide his horse off into the night, with Roth on his heels, but then stopped and turned back in Elladan's direction. "When he asks where I went, tell him I went home. Don't tell him about…the dangers, he'll worry. Tell him I was homesick." He wished he had a token that he could leave with the ranger, but he did not. They did not have much left since their trouble with the orcs and the traitors.

"I will," Elladan assured.

"And you had better tell them if that wound gives you anymore trouble," the prince added.

"I will," Elladan repeated, but with amusement behind it.

"So long _mellon nîn_," Legolas whispered at last, turning back around to guide his horse away. Roth followed closely behind, nearly stepping on Legolas' heels.

They soon had gained the edge of the forest and then they both stopped to mount their horses. However, when Legolas started to breech the edge and enter into the forest, Roth hung back. "Surely you don't mean to go in there?" he asked incredulously. They were near Dol Guldur and the odds were against them that they would run into a horde of orcs, even on a good day.

Legolas couldn't see Rothinzil, but he could imagine his friend's face pretty clearly. "It would be easier to be spotted on the plains. Besides, I don't want any chance of Aragorn tracking us. I also have a feeling that the concentration of the orcs is elsewhere." He started forward once more; glad when he heard Roth's horse bringing up the rear.

"Like at home?" Roth questioned softly.

Legolas stiffened at the thought. "Possibly."

"You know that they will be," Roth said rather discouragingly. "Mirkwood isn't as strong as it used to be, Legolas, and truly, your absence hasn't helped."

Legolas didn't answer. He was feeling lonely, even with Roth at his side and the accusations were not helping. The truth was that he had ridden with Estel at his side for so long now and it felt awkward not to have the human around. He already missed the man's sloppy smile and the way he attempted to sing his own renditions of Elvish songs while they travelled.

Roth realized this and instantly felt remorse for his words. He had not meant to sound accusing, but merely factual. Not trusting himself not to cause further hurt, he kept his mouth shut.

The further they travelled into the woods, the more Legolas began to doubt his choice. It was even darker here than it was outside the forest and they wouldn't be able to find their way out until morning. The trees and vegetation seemed to close in behind them, hemming them in darkness. The only choice that they had was continue forward.

But the deeper they got, the heavier the gloom became until the air they breathed was oppressive. Cobwebs were frequently blocking their path and sticking to their hair and clothes. Having been away from Mirkwood so long, Legolas had discounted the spiders and now he could hear their legs skittering above, behind and all around them. They were creaking, like old hinges, and that meant that these were not the small spiders that ventured into Elven territory. These were the larger kind that brooded in the perpetual night and were barely able to support their own weight. However, they could still move quickly in the tree tops. Every now and then a bough would bend under their ominous weight, or there would be a soft _splat_ as a web was thrown, but the beasts didn't appear ready to attack.

"I am beginning to think that this was a bad idea," Legolas muttered under his breath, as he tried to calm his horse. The animal was not an Elven horse and was quickly making it known that it was not willing to suffer this darkness much longer. Nothing Legolas could do seemed to assuage the animal's terror. Taking pity on the horse, Legolas dismounted and relieved it of its gear and supplies. The bridal and saddle he tossed aside, having never needed them anyway, and what supplies were necessary, such as water and food, he rearranged so that they would be easier to handle. Roth did the same with his horse and supplies, inwardly groaning. They were sitting ducks now, both of them.

The horses only lingered a few seconds, as though saying farewell, before bolting.

Roth listened to them leaving before he sighed dolefully. "We could have let them show us the way out."

Legolas shook his head. "It's a little late for 'could have's', don't you think?" He knew that Roth was right, but he couldn't bring himself to say that right now. He was already furious with himself. He just seemed to be making the dumbest mistakes lately. As a matter of fact, he was beginning to wonder if the past three to four years had been a giant mistake.

A wicked sort of half laugh above their heads told the pair that the spiders were well aware of their situation. Rothinzil groaned. "This is lovely. You know, I am beginning to think that you _enjoy_ these situations."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Legolas frowned angrily. "You sound like my father," he accused darkly.

Roth didn't give in like he usually did and instead retaliated. "At least one of us does."

His response made Legolas stiffen and he whirled on his friend, for a moment oblivious to the danger. "You know not of what you speak, Rothinzil!" His voice was clipped in anger.

Rothinzil pursed his lips angrily and the muscles around his jaw tightened. However, the dark, forbidding hiss of a spider above interrupted their little tirade. They were being watched. Forgetting the argument, Roth muttered pessimistically, "I will bet that they haven't tasted Elf in a long time."

Legolas didn't answer at first, trying to see through the darkness at the tree boughs above them, trying in vain to pinpoint their stalkers. Pulling out his bow, he detected roughly where one was and let an arrow fly. He heard it strike something and a spider dropped out of the tree. The sounds of crushed vegetation indicated that it was a large one and Legolas was grateful that they wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. "I think that we should keep moving."

Roth just stared in the direction of the crash with big eyes. "Are you sure that it's dead?"

Legolas just shouldered his bow and then started to pull the other Elf after him. "Keep moving." Rothinzil didn't fight his friend's grip and allowed himself to be dragged along, still shocked at the size of the downed spider. The sounds of more spiders followed them, like a swarm of creaking limbs.

:0Ї0:

Some time early that morning Aragorn rolled over as he was prone to do. He was surprised, however, not to hear Legolas voice a single complaint as the prince was also prone to do. He reached over to see if the Elf was all right and found himself feeling nothing but grass. It was still too dark to see. "Legolas?" he asked sleepily, stifling a yawn.

There was no answer. Panic curled around Aragorn's insides and squeezed tightly. "Legolas?" he asked more frantically, thinking the Elf had wandered off again on his own. The results of his last wanderings were still fresh in the ranger's mind. But, no, that couldn't be the case. Legolas' bedroll and everything were simply –gone.

Aragorn felt like time had frozen and he only remembered to breathe when his lungs protested at the deprivation of oxygen. For a moment he contemplated screaming, but he couldn't keep air in his lungs for more than a few seconds as he was gasping repeatedly in his shock. "Rothinzil?" he asked, receiving no answer.

Jumping up, Aragorn began to rapidly scour the camp for any clues as to his friend's disappearance. He shuffled in the dark, going through everything he could find. When he reached the fire, he stoked it, throwing on another log to light up the dark. The circle of light grew and he was even more baffled. Nothing of the Wood-Elves' gear was left behind and their horses were missing as well.

Going over to Elrohir, whom it had always been easier to rouse when he was having a nightmare, Aragorn frantically shook his brother's arm. "Elrohir! Wake up, Elrohir! Elrohir-"

The twin didn't protest and sat up bleary-eyed but awake. "What is it? Can you go back to sleep? It is almost dawn!" he complained, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Elrohir!" Aragorn's hands bracketed his brother's face as he tried to hold Elrohir's drowsy attention. "Elrohir, listen to me! Legolas and Rothinzil –they're gone! And their stuff is gone!"

Elrohir stiffened and looked around wildly. "What?" He stood up, letting his blankets fall from his frame. Immediately he began to inspect the entire camp, leaving nothing unturned. At a loss, he turned around to Aragorn and scratched his head. "I just don't understand!"

By now, their frantic search had awakened Elladan, who saw up with a little bit of difficulty. His wound was still stiff and sore every now and then, and would remain so for some time. "Brothers," he called them. "They had to leave."

Elrohir turned around and gaped. "Repeat that, because I don't think I heard you correctly!" he snapped, flailing his arms in his exasperation and surprise.

Aragorn just looked around disbelievingly. "But they are coming back, aren't they?"

Elladan shook his head. "They have their homes, and we have ours. They had to go back. You had to have known that this would happen." He couldn't believe that he as being so calm about this. Maybe things had not really sunk in yet.

"You knew," Aragorn accused darkly, tears pricking under his eyes as he suddenly felt like everyone was against him. "Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't understand why there had been a need for this conspiracy. As a matter of fact, he didn't want to understand.

Elladan seemed hurt at the accusation. He had known that Aragorn's reaction would be like this, but he still could have never prepared himself for it. He had done this to protect his brother, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. "Because Legolas didn't want you to know yet. You needed your sleep, he just wanted to slip away quietly."

Aragorn sat down and put his face in his hands, trying to fight down the burning pain that he was feeling. He was sure that Legolas had never meant to put him through this, but the prince should have known that this reaction was unavoidable. And what hurt Aragorn most was that he was sure that Legolas probably did know and did it anyway. "Why?" he asked as Elrohir supportively came and massaged his shoulders. The younger twin understood what had happened now. "I wanted to help him. He isn't himself."

Elladan shook his head. "No, he is completely himself. He is changed some from what he has been through, but he is of a sound mind. You have changed yourself." He was trying to think of the best way possible to get Aragorn to understand without making the ranger feel mothered, but it wasn't working and maybe in this case, the blunt truth was the best thing. Aragorn already thought people were conspiring against him and he would feel even worse if he thought he wasn't being told everything. "If he was acting strange, it was because he knew that he had to protect you and the only way to protect you was by leaving. He has to do this on his own. He doesn't want to, but he has to."

Aragorn stared at the fire, watching the flames dancing and casting bizarre shadows. He hated it, but this all was making sense. He knew that there were certain places where friendship could only extend help so far, but it pained him that this was one of them. He felt responsible for the troubles his friend had been through and he had wanted to make sure that Legolas made it through them all right.

Elladan studied his brother's forlorn face for a moment. "We need you too, Estel," he murmured, suddenly feeling very possessive of his little brother. "_Ada_ needs you."

Aragorn choked. "I know." He suddenly realized how he must have made his brothers feel. They were his _brothers_ and they were still here, yet he was inadvertently treating them like they hardly mattered. He had never meant to reject them.

However, they showed no sign of jealousy or anger and were doing their best to be understanding.

"If Legolas had thought that you needed him, he would have stayed," Elrohir pointed out consolingly. "He didn't leave you before, even under pain of death." Elrohir sounded hurt as he reminded him, "you still have us."

Aragorn stiffened at the sorrow in his brother's voice and suddenly he realized how much he had missed them. Oh, he had always known he had missed them, but now he was beginning to understand how much he had missed _only_ them and the times that they had spent together. He leaned back into Elrohir, allowing his brother to support his weight. "I am scared for him."

Elladan smiled. "Legolas always lands on his feet."

Aragorn smiled drolly, and allowed Elrohir to pull him into a soothing embrace. "Even if he has to twist around a lot in the air first."

Elrohir forced a grin. "Exactly." He then followed up with a forced laugh. "Remember, he's an Elf, and therefore, very versatile."

Aragorn wished he could join in Elrohir's laughter, but he could not. As much as he understood what was happening, he still was afraid. Legolas had said that Mirkwood had changed…he had been saying that for a long time. What if it had changed more than the Wood-Elf knew? What if Legolas was willingly walking into his death, dragging Rothinzil with him?

Aragorn tried to do as his brother's wished, and believe that Legolas knew what he was doing, but he had a feeling that his friend was making a grave mistake. "Were that he was a cat," the ranger said wistfully. "This would be his last life."

The rest of the night he spent sleeping beside Elrohir while Elladan kept watch. Elrohir kept one arm around him while Elladan kept a reassuring hand on his chest. However, he wondered if they were holding him like this more to keep track of him, than for comfort. He tried to relax, but he could not, and even if Legolas was meant to do this without his help, Aragorn still found himself chafing at his friend's departure. Throughout that night, he knew that he would find no rest.

They were close to the southern border of Mirkwood, and the sway of Dol Guldur, and it was night. Legolas should never have left.

:0Ї0:

Hours later the dawn was coming, although Legolas couldn't tell from a change in the light. The forest was still dark as ever. But he had grown up here and knew the telltale signs well enough. The air was beginning to grow hotter as the sun heated through the leaves and the oppressive air remained trapped in the foliage. Legolas wished that they could get some of that sunlight down where they were.

They were still far south, but so far, besides the stalking of the spiders, things had been unnaturally uneventful. They had seen some signs of wargs, but not run into one, and the signs seemed days old. What alarmed Legolas the most was that it was the signs of a large party accompanied by orcs. He had not been able to tell much, since it was still very dark, and he was not the best tracker.

Roth leaned over the whispered in his ear, "These dratted thorns are beginning to become bothersome. They get through every layer of clothes…" He pulled at a particularly large barb that had lodged itself in his leggings and was tearing at his leg. He only succeeded in becoming more intertwined in the small, wiry vines and more stickers, like hands, snagged his clothes.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Yes, I mean, the spiders and the wargs are nothing compared to these dratted little things!" he muttered in dark sarcasm, stopping to help his struggling friend. Becoming aggravated, he snapped, "Will you hold still! You are fighting it like it is an Elf-eating fiend!"

Roth stopped struggling and stared at the plant with barely concealed horror. "Do you think that it is? I mean, we are near Dol Guldur."

Legolas rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his friend's antics. "Oh yes, probably, and meant to ensnare saps like you."

Roth glared. "I was being serious." He winced as Legolas was none too gentle prying him out of the entanglements of thorns and his skin tore slightly. Of course Legolas wasn't trying to harm his friend, but his nerves and wanting to be away from here as soon as possible were getting the best of him. He felt Roth wince and quickly apologized before continuing.

Roth sighed. He understood. Just as he was freed, and tried to pull away, Legolas groaned. "I think we have a problem."

The warrior turned to look questioningly at his friend. "Excuse me?" He couldn't be positive, but he was beginning to feel unnaturally drowsy and was having a hard time focusing.

Legolas blinked as he stared blearily at the thorns that had pricked through his leggings. "I am stuck."

Roth shook his head to focus. "You too?" His voice sounded half-way absorbed. In the dark he couldn't really see details all that well. The skittering of a spider above them caused him to shiver reflexively and he chanced a look above. Unfortunately, he only saw darkness that seemed perpetual.

"Yes! Now help me! This isn't working!" Legolas snapped fearfully as he heard more spiders coming. He had not made it through Harad and Rohan, only to become breakfast for some creepy, fat, old spiders. Roth shared his opinion.

Hurriedly, he started to tug at the vines, but his fingers were sluggish and the darkness made it even more difficult. Their Elven glows didn't provide much light. "I think they were poisonous."

Legolas rolled his eyes, feeling the effects the longer he was tangled in the vines. It wasn't so much sedative as it was painful. He felt like he was being pricked with barbs of fire and they were spreading as the poison entered his blood stream. He could tell by Roth's breathing that he was feeling the same effects. _Mahnlach_, Legolas suddenly remembered, groaning inwardly. A venomous juice secreted by the barbs and only in Southern Mirkwood where Sauron had blackened and poisoned the land. They were not lethal and only sickening only in large ones.

"Roth, it's _Mahnlach_! Do you understand what that is?" He questioned, barely keeping his voice from slurring in pain. His wounds had been much worse, but his healing body was reacting badly.

The warrior hurried to free his prince, noticing that Legolas was suffering from the effects. Roth hadn't been in them for as long a period of time and his body was stronger. "I must admit that name is new to me…"

"It's a poison…not deadly, but painful…"

"I think I have noticed that part," Roth muttered sarcastically as he pulled the last thorn free. Legolas winced as it caught in his skin for a moment.

Legolas jumped free, stumbling only to be caught by Roth. He sagged against his friend for a minute and waited for the world to stop spinning. Roth helped him stand upright and then sucked his breath in sharply. Now that the dilemma with the thorns was over and they could focus on other things, he noticed that the spiders had encroached closer. Legolas felt him tremble slightly. Having not been raised with the Wood-Elves, he had Aragorn's perspective of them and they still frightened him. He would fight them, but inside he was cringing at their hairy bodies, legs, claws, and bulbous eyes….

Legolas worked to maintain his balance and pushed his pain aside, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Roth still trembled slightly under his touch. "In most cases they bluff, Roth. You should know that."

Rothinzil swallowed hard. "I remember." However, judging from his voice, Legolas wasn't so sure.

"Let us give them a reason to keep their distance," the prince said in smooth anger. He reached behind him, pulling his bow from his back and nocking three arrows. Roth protectively followed suite, scared out of his mind, but ready to die in Legolas' defence. A childish, nervous smile flittered on his lips as he choked an answer.

"All right."

Legolas found a spot that looked perfect to aim at, right into a cluster of luminous, bulbous eyes, and nodded at Rothinzil to do the same. The spiders seemed unimpressed and one threw a web, which shot between the Elves, missing them both completely. It stuck to a tree with a disgusting sound. Legolas didn't care to see any more. He released the tension on his bow and his three arrows sang in the air, all three striking the most imposing spider directly in the eyes. A dreadful, bone chilling wail curdled the air, and was all the encouragement that Rothinzil needed to release his arrows, slaying another spider. It fell with a crash. The remaining ten crept back into the darker portions of the trees that were not touched by the Elves' flaring glow.

Rothinzil seemed to relax some and he breathed a deep, shuddering breath. "Ah, well that looks better."

Legolas inadvertently quenched his optimism. "For now."

Roth swallowed, keeping his bow on hand. "Right. That is what I meant." He was contemplating reaching for his sword as he was more comfortable with that weapon. However, he hoped the spiders wouldn't get close enough for him to have to use it.

"Keep moving," Legolas whispered in his ear, grabbing his shoulders and guiding him forward.

Roth allowed his prince to force him just a little farther before he resisted. "Is this your answer to everything?" he hissed, scared that a spider might be ahead. He would rather it be him than Legolas who became breakfast, but at the same time, he wanted to live too. Their grinding mandibles and voluminous eyes made his stomach churn.

"Yes, for now," Legolas admitted. "Don't show fear, keep going."

Roth turned around and glared. "I am not afraid."

Legolas smiled warmly as he released his friend's shoulders. "I know. Those spiders had better look out." He sounded completely serious, even though Rothinzil had his doubts. While Roth forced himself to walk ahead, Legolas kept guard at the rear. He had a feeling that they had more to worry about than spiders. Their glow could not possibly have gone unnoticed. Roth was right. This was a stupid idea. He had been gone so long that he had almost forgotten how to survive in his own home.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn was awake when Elrohir opened his eyes. The younger twin blinked and pushed himself away from his little brother, yawning as he gained his senses. "Did you have no sleep last night, Estel?" Elrohir's voice, as well as the question, caught Elladan's attention.

Aragorn stared between his brothers and shrugged. "I wasn't tired." He started to gather up his bedroll and other supplies, putting his belt and sword on, as well as slinging his quiver and arrows over his back. He was ready within minutes while his brothers were still struggling to wrap their pallets up.

"Planning on skipping breakfast?" Elladan questioned softly.

Aragorn frowned. "If it is Lembas, sure."

Elrohir smiled. "You haven't had it in a while. You never know, your taste might have changed." He demonstratively consumed a large bite of his own piece, almost biting the leaf wrapping.

Elladan seemed sympathetic and frowned back at Elrohir. "Elrohir just has strange taste." He tried to make light of the gloomy, foreboding, morning.

Aragorn was unimpressed and just sat dejectedly on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chin. He missed Legolas deeply, and he wondered if his friends had survived the night. Roth was prone to attracting trouble and accidents –almost as badly as Legolas was. Being in southern Mirkwood at night couldn't bode well under any circumstances and that stubborn prince was not near fully healed. If he ran into a large band of orcs, then he was in trouble. Elven or not, there were some things that their constitution was not able to endure.

Elrohir sat down consolingly by his brother, putting his arm around Aragorn's shoulders in a comforting way. He smiled at the morning sky, which was a bright, scarlet. "It is a beautiful morning, Estel! You are like a lingering rain cloud! Lighten up!" He gestured to the scenery with a large sweep of his hand.

Aragorn leaned into him some and studied the sunrise and the reddening colour as it mixed with the clouds and created a pink haze. The wind was soothingly balmy. Suddenly he jerked in painful recognition and murmured, "Oh, no."

Elrohir stared inquiringly at him. Elladan continued packing the horses. He would let Aragorn skip breakfast if he wanted. The ranger would be hungry later.

"What is wrong, Estel?" Elrohir asked, pushing Aragorn out and holding him by his shoulders at arm's length.

"The sky is _red_, Elrohir. _Blood red_! Blood has been spilled this night!" Aragorn's face was ashen, almost as it had been when he had nearly died and Elrohir felt the colour drain from his face as well. Giving the sky one last, mournful look, he realized that those colours that he had thought so gorgeous, could be the result of his friends' blood wetting the soil.

Aragorn became inconsolable. But they couldn't venture into those woods to look for the prince and Rothinzil. Aragorn was needed at home too, and they had to make a trip to Lórien. Only the mirror would be able to tell them anything…and even it would be uncertain.

**TBC...**

**Yeah, well they are in the home stretch now! HAHAHAHA! You didn't think that we would let them get off that easy, now did you? Be honest, you didn't. ;) **

**Please review! You know how we feel about that! LOL ((((((hugs readers)))))))) Your reviews from the last chapter were wonderful! We will respond to them later this evening, we promise. We just have a few things that have to get done first thanks to RL. **

**Quick funny story: Yesterday I (Celeb) got chased by a pair of white geese when I tried to take their picture for an art project. They seriously have a mental disorder or something...they attacked cars too...Those things are vicious! LOL Guess they either weren't very photogenic or camera-shy! LOL **


	15. There is no Place Like Home

_I Will Always Return_

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

There is no Place like Home

The spiders had ceased trying to seriously harm either of the Elves, even if they seemed to find a twisted delight in harrying them. And they found particular enjoyment in the harassment of Rothinzil, whose fear of them was easily noticeable the more they spewed webs at him or brushed his neck with a bristled limb. He shuddered every time, and no words Legolas could speak seemed to dissuade him from his opinion that the spiders were going to suck his body fluids out.

They had tried to garner the same satisfying reaction out of Legolas, but the Wood-Elf was far too single-minded with his intent to get home. They quickly grew tired of him.Legolas was growing vexed with the shudders and terrified but almost inaudible whimpers of his friend. He knew that Rothinzil had the strong heart of a lion, but spiders were the one thing that he had real trouble facing down. He was practically clinging against Legolas now, giving up on appearing invincible.

Drawing his bow, Legolas nocked his arrows quicker than sight and before the spiders knew what was happening he had deftly felled three particularly large ones. One died with a bloodcurdling screech as the arrow went through one of its numerous eyes, but the others perished silently. Their fat bodies snapped and crushed bushes as they crashed to the earth and the living spiders retreated, spewing vengeful hisses over their backs. Roth's gratitude knew no boundaries, but Legolas merely put a finger to his friend's lips to calm him and stop his babbling. "Orcs could have heard this. Now hush…my friend."

Roth's once desperate tone turned vengeful. "Oh, I can take care of _them_, my lord." A fire suddenly flared up a bright green color in his eyes.

Legolas nodded. "Good." He had a feeling that the pack of orcs they had seen signs of earlier was somewhere just ahead. He kept his bow in his hand and Roth unconsciously placed a hand on his sword hilt. Really, neither of them had any hopes of evading the orcs. Their glows were hard to miss and had been suppressed so long in misery that they refused to be hidden again.

Soon, the pair came to where the trees were about the only foliage, and the brush was smothered by the darkness. The trunks were thick and numerous and left very little space. It was the perfect place for an ambush and Legolas knew it. However, he had a strange, sickening feeling of peace and didn't stop moving.

"Legolas, you are mad!" Roth hissed as he matched his pace to his prince's.

He nearly banged into the other Elf as Legolas went stone still. "We don't have to worry about an attack," murmured heartbrokenly, not even looking at his friend. Roth came and stood at Legolas' side, and followed his friend's gaze curiously. What he saw made him want to retch and he tried to turn his face away, but found himself unable to.

"Are they…dead?" he questioned in a rasping voice. His gaze was still enraptured by their agonized faces.

Legolas swallowed hard before breaking his dazed stare at the bodies littering the ground. "I think so." Several immortal flames had been brutally extinguished here. But the Elves' hands were all bound with thick cord and it was obvious that they had been prisoners before their deaths. Legolas forced himself to check each one for a pulse or any sign of life, disappointed not to find a single heartbeat. There were signs of torment on a few…and on others, signs of a strong resistance. Taking his knife, he moved to cut their bonds and then stopped, thinking.

"Surely we aren't going to leave their bodies in this deplorable a state?" Roth asked as he stared in agonized shock at them. He couldn't believe how much their faces resembled how he had seen Legolas look only months before. It was frightening and he shuddered as he could almost imagine his friend and liege lying among them.

Legolas' answer came slowly. "Yes. We are. We are halfway home, and for any orcs it would be a sign we passed this way. If fate permits it, we shall return later for the dead." He sheathed his knife and picked his bow back up from where he had set it on the ground alongside his knees. He twisted his face away, unable to look at the lifeless, large, terrified eyes. He had not known these guards, but they were his people and a sense of failure smote him deeply.

Roth squeezed his shoulder and then helped Legolas to his feet. "It wasn't your fault." He forced Legolas to look into his eyes, bringing his face close to his friend's. "You suffer enough _mellon nîn_."

"No, not nearly as much as I deserve. If I had been here, would things have happened differently?" he questioned bitterly, starting forward and pulling away from the warrior.

Roth caught up with him in a few long strides. "Maybe, maybe not. It could have been their own folly." Rothinzil was grateful that he didn't recognize any of them as his warriors, but he was wondering if Celebalda was currently missing any of his men.

"Provoked by me," Legolas continued adamantly. He felt so torn. Aragorn had needed him, but his people had too. He didn't know which he would have regretted more. Both were terribly wrong.

Rothinzil shook his head. Legolas had to be made to understand. "It was your father's fault, Legolas. He could have used his strength to save his people but he didn't. You couldn't help his reaction."

For the first time, Legolas spun around, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Roth didn't retreat, even if he wanted to. "If you ever blame my father again, Rothinzil, I will beat you from these woods!" His threat became a snarl and Roth flinched as he knew that Legolas' misery was tearing his friend up. Legolas would never threaten him with that, for many reasons dating far back to their first meeting. Roth couldn't deny that he had been deeply wounded.

Seeing the pain in his friend's loyal eyes, Legolas' anger suddenly melted into genuine remorse. He couldn't believe what he had done and he would beg for forgiveness if he had to. "I am so sorry Rothinzil! Believe me! I wasn't thinking! I am…I am just so scared, _mellon nîn_."

The warrior seemed to understand, but Legolas could tell that his faith was shaken. "I understand Legolas," he murmured quietly, his eyes and thin smile speaking of his immediate forgiveness. "You are going through much."

Legolas just looked at him sadly, and then turned his back on his friend to continue on. He couldn't bear the heartbroken look. He couldn't believe that he had threatened Roth with his past that had scarred him deeply. The warrior had been raised by a family of humans, but around age eighty, when his foster parents died, the village had driven him out. He had all but starved and by the time Legolas had found him, he was little more than a shadow. Roth had found a home in Mirkwood, with Thranduil being like an adoptive father and Legolas his brother. He was not treated as royal, at his own wish. His reverence for Legolas was unmatched.

Legolas didn't realize that he had moved so far ahead until he heard Roth cry out for him to wait. Stopping, he allowed his friend time to catch up. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but he couldn't find words to express his remorse and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps it would be better if he didn't mention it again.

:0Ї0:

They had ventured some miles south of the palace, both disgusted at the amounts of cobwebs and spider stench that made the forest seem darker as some webs above blocked out the light. Roth wasn't paying much attention and was studying the intricate webs, when suddenly Legolas pressed up against a trunk, siding up to the tree. He grabbed his friend and forcefully shoved him against another. Roth twisted his head and stared at Legolas questioningly as the prince kept his arm across his chest to keep him in place. "_Yrch_."

Rothinzil became incredulous. "Are you sure? This close to the palace?"

Legolas nodded affirmatively. He had been dubious at first, but no longer. He could hear their voices and smell their singular stench. Hot anger bubbled in his chest as he thought of the warriors found dead and the torment they must have endured. Their faces contorted by pain and terror and their hands bound. "They are stalking ahead of us, but heading this way, I believe."

Loud garbled laughter gargled in the air and Legolas winced. They were closer than he had thought. Roth reached for the limb above his head and swung himself up into the tree, having a sinking suspicion that the orcs had them greatly outnumbered. He offered Legolas a hand, but the prince shook his head and remained on the ground, drawing an arrow from his quiver. "Legolas," Roth cautioned. "We are outnumbered! We are going to end up in the same position that those dead warriors were in and that won't be any help to anyone."

Legolas nocked the arrow and started to take aim. Passionate anger glistened in his eyes, almost glazing them. He drew the arrow back, preparing the shoot down the first orc that was coming close. Roth closed his eyes as he heard the projectile release and the orc give a strangled scream of death as he slammed backwards into its fellows. It had started. Clearing the tree, he landed lightly next to Legolas with his knees bending to absorb the impact. Pulling his own bow over his shoulder, he nocked another arrow and shot into the cluster of orcs, who seem surprised when another one of their own fell. The dying creature had no chance to scream, Roth's arrow was lodged up its feathers in his neck.

Both the Elves were immediately embroiled in a battle and gradually the orcs' numerous bodies weaved between them. Separated, they both tried to fight as best as they were able. Roth was pushed into a cluster of trees, where he was finding it increasingly difficult to wield his broadsword, which was his choice over knives. The technique dated back to his years spent with humans. Legolas was being pressed towards a small and darkened glade and his twin knives were whirling and stabbing repeatedly at the creatures. Already many orc bodies carpeted the forest floor, but there seemed to be no end of the creatures. Swiping an orc across the face with a knife, Legolas chanced a look at Roth.

He was holding his own very nicely, using his feet more and more as he was forced to kick the orcs back to keep from being overwhelmed and pinned against a tree. His broadsword flashed as he thrust it at the creatures while agilely evading their blows. Already the dead were growing around his feet and he kicked them out of his way in disgust. To be honest, Legolas was candidly impressed that his friend had not tripped and narrowly escaped death. Roth was not known as the most balanced of creatures.

More orcs continued to pour out of nowhere and as the battle wore on Legolas was surprised as he felt himself becoming exhausted. Every move he made took an extreme effort and sweat poured from his brow, drizzling into his eyes. He was not yet healed well enough to be engaging in this vigorous an activity. The only thing that kept him going was his burning hate towards the orcs and the thought that he had almost become one of them. He would not tolerate them this close to his home.

Inevitably, Rothinzil tripped. He was lucky because he fell backward over a body instead of playing directly in his opponents' hands, but at the same time in serious trouble. Legolas noticed, but he was too far away and too weakened to get there very quickly. Vehemently slashing his way through the orcs, he worked his way towards his friend, watching in horror as an orc standing above the downed Elf raised his scimitar point down and prepared to plunge it.

Roth closed his eyes, imagining that he would feel steel break through his chest and then die. There was no way that he could block that blow. There was no place to roll as he was blocked on either side by orc bodies. However, the strange peace that he had always heard came with death didn't come and he winced as he heard the sword slice through his cloak and embed itself in the dirt right behind his ear. He was pinned securely in place and the sword was buried deeply, so that he could see the hilt next to his face if he turned his head. The orc above him laughed cruelly and gave Roth a strong kick in the ribs.

Rothinzil winced a minute before kicking back and tripping the beast with his feet. The other orcs laughed at their companion but moved to secure Rothinzil's legs, learning from their mistakes. "Didn't think we'd let-cha get away so easily, did you Elf-rat?" said one, drawing his knife and licking the edge with his long, mottled tongue. He gave Roth a once over and smiled. "Ye'r a pretty one, maybe we should take you and blondie home with us, eh?"

Roth glared angrily. "Maybe you should get out of _our_ home!"

The orc fingered the knife and scowled angrily. "Your home? This is our lord's home. You Elves are simply disobedient serfs! But I will teach you better!" He ran his knife slowly down the side of Roth's face, the jagged edge cutting him slightly. It continued to run down along his exposed neck and Roth tried to jerk away in disdain. However, he only succeeded in hitting the side of his head sharply against the metal sword hilt. White stars exploded in his vision for a few seconds.

The orc pressed his face near the warrior's, his breath exhaling on Roth's cheek. Dazed, the dark-haired Elf didn't move. "Go on," taunted the orc evilly. "Scream for help. The others did." Roth just twisted his face away and concentrated on the darkness of the treetops, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. His heart was hammering in his chest as he felt the orc's hands on his neck and others hold his arms against the ground.

Legolas was mere yards away now and his once powder-blue eyes were passionately black in anger. Roth was sprawled on the ground and the orcs were swarming around him. He growled in his throat as he saw one run his tongue up the side of Roth's face from the base of his neck and his friend struggle powerlessly at the offensive touch. Close enough now that he had a clear shot at the orc pinning Rothinzil's arms to the ground, Legolas whipped his bow from his back and released an arrow. The orc that was straddled over his defenceless friend crumpled down, burying the Elf-warrior. However, Legolas was surprised to hear Roth give a small cry of pain.

He wasn't given time to dwell on it, however, and was forced to keep a rapid succession of arrows slamming into his assailants. The orcs around Roth dropped from the projectiles, falling around and on the warrior. Killing some closer foes by stabbing with his arrows as if they were daggers, Legolas finally slew the last orc.

Legolas' chest was heaving from the exertion and his hair clung to his sweaty, pale face. The movement of his deep breaths caused his newly healed ribs to move abruptly, jolting pain throughout his system. Dropping his bow, he stumbled to where his friend had fallen, ultimately collapsing on his knees by Roth's face.

The warrior smiled up at him, but it was laced with pain and he closed his eyes shortly. Legolas started to look his friend over, searching for a wound when he saw that Rothinzil's hands were clawing at the dead orc that was crushing down on him –the one that had licked him. Legolas hurried to remove the body but as he struggled to drag it off of the warrior, Rothinzil released a strangled cry. His body jerked and he begged, slipping into Sindarin, "Saes, Legolas! Saes…"

Alarmed, Legolas immediately relented, but was careful to ease the beast's weight back down. Obviously, Roth was in pain and he couldn't see why. Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of a growing crimson stain coming from the other Elf's midsection. It appeared that when the orc had fallen its knife had remained stiff in its hand and it had cut into Roth's abdomen. The laceration wasn't deep but it was bleeding profusely and Roth's face rapidly turned ashen. "Legolas…hurts…not deep…"

Legolas bit his lip, trembling. He had come so close to home and he couldn't lose Rothinzil now…he just couldn't. It would kill him, it truly would. "I have to move the orc, Roth." He forced himself to remain calm, calling on every fibre of his being.

Roth ignored his comment. "You are white…Legolas, and s-shaking…are you well?" He tried to assess Legolas from his prone position, but the prince gently restrained him, resting his hand on his chest. He smiled tearfully at Roth's selflessness, which never ceased to amaze him.

"I am well. Don't you dare move again," Legolas demanded tenderly, brushing his finger tips along Roth's cheek. He was repulsed as he felt the slimy moisture of orc saliva and used his hand to wipe it away. Roth's lips twitched in a grateful smile.

"They were going to…t-to…torture…" Roth's voice slurred in pain and he stopped speaking as Legolas shook his head.

"I would never let them, Roth. You know that." Legolas tried to assure his friend as he scrutinized the orc body and the knife tearing at Roth's torso.

"That's why I wasn't truly scared, Legolas," he murmured quietly, his eyes closing wearily and his fingers, that had still clutched his sword, unwrapped from their grip. Blood-loss was sapping his strength and Legolas knew that he had to act quickly. He could feel Roth relaxing under his touch, either in trust or in weariness, he did not know.

Slowly, he began to heft the orc from the warrior, watching as Roth's face crumpled up in agony. The wounded Elf's chin trembled as the knife slid out of his skin, releasing a new torrent of blood. He gave a shuddering breath and gasped as his skin stretched with the lung expansion. His hands moved quickly to clutch at his wound and immediately became slick with blood.

Legolas pulled them away, and murmured, "Stop. I have to see it." His own hands were unsteady and trembled from the exertion of battle on his weakened body and hot anger burning through his core. He had brought this misery not only on himself, but on those he loved as well. Roth nodded but Legolas could tell he was struggling to keep his hands at his sides. They tore at the ground, as though trying to hang onto it.

Legolas gently opened up the folds of Roth's tunic and started to inspect the wound with his fingers. It had not punctured any organs and had barely gone completely through. Roth was lucky. Looking at his hands, Legolas felt sick at the feel of his friend's warm blood trickling down his fingers. "You are losing a lot of blood, _mellon nîn_."

Roth blinked as he tried to focus on Legolas' face. Legolas immediately opened up his first tunic layer and tore the fabric into a large strip before wadding it up and stuffing it gently into the wound. He tore another and wrapped it tightly, almost restricting Roth's ability to breathe.

"When we get home you are going to the healers," Legolas informed as he started to try and gather Roth up into his arms. He couldn't' say that he was looking forward to the burden, but there was no way that Roth would be walking.

Rothinzil had never ceased to amaze Legolas and he pulled free of Legolas' grip, dragging himself a few feet away. He ploughed the forest floor up in his wake. Shaking his head, he dragged himself up to his knees. "I can walk Legolas." He insisted, not allowing Legolas to touch him. Grabbing the side of a tree, he used it as leverage to haul himself up to his feet, swaying slightly.

Legolas looked torn between a glare and a smile, resulting in a dead-panned tone. "You are a marvel."

Roth simply swallowed compulsively and nodded with a thin smile. His blood-loss had left him disoriented and the world seemed a bit hazy. When he tried to move his hand that was still clawing at the tree, he found a sticky substance on it. Pulling away, Roth awkwardly stumbled back a few feet, staring at the tree in trepidation. There were cobwebs on everything.

"No place like home," the prince muttered darkly, eyeing the trees. They glittered with spider tendrils.

"Indeed," Rothinzil agreed insipidly. He was still rubbing his hand vigorously on his leggings, trying to tear off the last of the sticky webbing. When Legolas started to walk cautiously forward, Roth steeled his jaw, forced down his pain, and followed.

:0Ї0:

It did not take them long to reach the palace, but what Legolas saw disquieted him. Everything was dark. Not a lamp was lit, but he sensed the presence of sentinels hidden the foliage of the trees and brush. A cold shiver made the hair rise on the back of his head and he chanced a glance over his shoulder at Roth. True to his word, the warrior had Legolas' back, even if his defence was looking a little flimsy as the other Elf could barely walk.

Deciding that he would never know the worst or best until he tried, Legolas started determinedly forward. He did not expect to be challenged and the threatening of a sentinel stilled his movements. "Move and be shot!" the warrior snarled savagely, sizing the two intruders up. A deliberate rustling in the leaves told Legolas that there were numerous others.

Roth stiffened and started to come forward to defend his liege, but Legolas stuck out his arm, forcing his friend to peace. Roth was in no condition to fight anymore and this was obviously a mistake. A small frown tugged at Legolas' mouth and he replied, "I am your prince, Legolas Greenleaf. With me is Rothinzil. You will let us pass," he ordered out of habit.

The sentinel's tone seemed to grow more savage and he spat, "So the treacherous prince returns. Rumour has it that you were dead." He could sense Rothinzil's presence and growled, "We didn't expect you to come back." By their dialects, Legolas could tell that these Elves were Silvan and it was no surprise to hear them voicing their complaints. Some never appreciated having Sindarin rulers and this had been the excuse that they had been looking for.

Legolas treaded carefully, not wanting to start a fight that could end in more bloodshed. He had seen enough blood to last him an eternity. "It was an accident. We are both alive, and I have returned to make things right." Legolas didn't expect their sympathy or their understanding, but it was the truth, whether they discarded it or not.

"In your wanderings have you learned to raise the dead Legolas?" When he didn't hear an answer in the allotment of time permitted, the guard supplied one. "Then there is very little that you can do here." Rothinzil stiffened and placed a consoling hand on Legolas' shoulder.

Legolas set his jaw and his lips turned into a fine line that turned down at the corners. "What is this you speak of?" he tried to use his tone with more authority.

"The orcs fear us no more. The magic that has hidden and protected our refuge is failing, princeling. Many have died in her defence." His voice shook with emotion and his stance wavered.

Legolas stepped forward to try and offer his condolences, but the sentinel would have none of it and back-pedalled, raising his bow in the dark. "Don't even start with me, _Prince_ Legolas! I don't need your pity. Was this place not good enough for you? We all loved and adored you as our prince and you abandoned us for some...some ranger!" He stumbled through his words in the wrath.

"That ranger is my friend!" Legolas snapped, suddenly flaring up in defence. They could talk ill of him all that they wanted but they had better not mention Aragorn's name in the slurs. "I have returned! We can fix this!"

An Elf to the right of the prince spat at him angrily, but his voice reflected hurt. "Let the traitor and his pet pass, Morion!" Reluctantly, the other warrior relented and his forces fell back with him, but it voiced their disapproval in angry undertones.

Legolas walked past stiffly, carefully eyeing the surrounding dark. Roth followed behind a bit slower, a hand on his wound and his other hanging limply at his side. The anger and mistrust of the other warriors made the air seem oppressive.

Once they had passed over the small bridge and were inside the palace without further harassment, Roth called for Legolas to stop. Thinking his wounded friend was in need of help, Legolas stopped and whirled around, prepared to carry Roth to the Healing Ward. "I know the Elf that stopped us, Legolas. Morion used to be in my regiment, and I think that he still is. He has never acted thus before." The warrior paused, letting his words sink in before saying what was next on his mind. "If even he has turned this way, things may be a bit more dangerous than they appear. I just want you to be careful."

Legolas frowned, disquieted. "Roth," he directed, avoiding the subject. "You are going to the Healing Ward."

Roth blanched (if it were possible that he could get any paler) and he defiantly stepped a pace away from his friend. "With all due respect, I am not."

Legolas felt anger bubble in his chest. "Rothinzil, let me make this abundantly clear. You've already lost a lot of blood; your bleeding couldn't possibly have fully stopped. You need your wound cleansed and you need stitches. You need rest." He didn't want to say that he wasn't feeling very confident and needed at least one person to listen to him. "You _are_ going to the Healing Ward, if I have to drag you there!"

Roth realized that Legolas would make him do exactly that and he backed away further, clutching his wound. "You would tear me from your side after all that we have been through together? How dare you?"

"Roth, I don't want you to die, do you hear me?" Legolas shook with emotion, tears starting to run down his proud cheeks. "Enough have already! I can't seem to get anyone to follow my orders around here! Everything has changed. I want to able to count on _you_!"

Stricken, Rothinzil swallowed. "Legolas, I am sorry."

The apology hung in the air between them for a moment. The silence seemed to echo and Legolas sighed. "I will walk with you to the Healing Ward and then I must see my father."

Rothinzil sighed heavily. He couldn't disobey Legolas when everybody else was. He wanted to be supportive, but Thranduil was not himself. For that matter no one was. The oppressive air of evil had started to settle on the palace grounds and it seemed to be sparing no one. If something happened, Legolas was going to need someone to be at his back…someone he could trust. Thranduil had always been a good father, but things had changed and he didn't think Legolas could ever be prepared for what he was bound to see. "Yes, my lord."

The submissive tone of Roth's voice made Legolas sick, but he only nodded. "All right, let us go." In the back of his mind, he was wondering what he would find when he reached the ward. The healers were apt to be angry considering all the injured they must have had to accommodate for these past few years.

Legolas was beginning to remember all the old paths of his home, but in a few instances he had to rely on Roth's more recent memory. The warrior would dejectedly lead them in the correct direction, his heart in his boots. They made their way slowly to the Healing Ward and when they reached the door, they found that it was dark and forsaken looking. Roth looked at Legolas dispassionately. "So you are going to leave me here?"

Legolas went over to where there was an old lamp and lit the wick. He smiled. Some things never changed. That lamp had been there for at least a few centuries. The glow made the room seem less hostile and Legolas forced Rothinzil towards a bed. "Yes, you are safer here. I will find a healer." Roth sat on the bed's edge, still holding his hand against his abdomen. He couldn't bring himself to argue and the quiet sorrow of Legolas' voice made him feel out of place.

Legolas left shortly and came back with a shocked healer in tow. The Elf-maiden was stumbling behind him, barely able believe what she saw. They were both supposed to be dead. Looking at the blood covering Rothinzil's midsection, she stopped short. Turning to Legolas she gaped before asking, "What happened to him, my lord?"

Legolas took a moment to answer, thinking of the possible effects of his next words. "Orc attack."

She paled and he quickly reassured her. "No one else was hurt. The orcs are all dead. Treat him as you would me. You know he is like my brother." Legolas cast a small smile at Roth, who demonstratively stared at the floor.

Looking back the healer, Legolas nodded. "Just take good care of him." He waited for her assurance and then turned his back on the ward before walking out.

Once in the dark corridors, he paled, realizing he couldn't quiet remember how to navigate his way to his room or his father's. Vaguely, he started to follow his instincts and made his way towards his quarters. From there he would gather his wits and make his way to his father's. The elder Elf had to be sleeping this early.

Legolas winced as he suddenly hit his shin against something sharp and wooden. Recoiling, he only succeeded in stumbling backwards over another object, barely managing to catch himself. Deciding not to move anymore, lest he actually fall, Legolas held still. Cautiously, he reached his hands out, feeling for the objects. What he felt was the rough grain of wooden sliding under his fingers tips and the cubical shape of a box. Crates.

Curious, Legolas wondered why they were littering the corridor leading to his chambers. It was too dark for him to see any labels that might be on them, so he shrugged them off and continued, careful not to trip over another one. His shin was still throbbing.

Successfully finding his chambers, Legolas memory seemed to return and he navigated them back to his room, where his bed and most precious possessions were. He was surprised to see a soft glow coming from his room and halted, wondering if someone might be in it. Could his father possibly be in there? Biting his lip, Legolas steeled himself and entered the room. He was surprised to discover that it was completely vacant of other life. But he was even more surprised by what _was_ in there and he was beginning to understand why he had stumbled over crates.

In the glow of a pyramid candle vigil set up by his bed he saw a teddy bear, died indigo and with button eyes. It was faded and shabby from overuse and he smiled. _Mellon_, the bear he had possessed since his birth. But there was more. His first bow was lying ceremoniously on the top of his dresser and there were other toys from his childhood laid about the room, obviously arranged with great care. Going over to his drawers, the prince cautiously opened them, only to discover clothes from his younger days. They were much too small for him now and he grimaced, remembering the days when he had been more innocent.

Feeling heavy exhaustion, Legolas sat on the edge of his bed, trying to keep his eyelids open. He had taken to sleeping with them closed and now they felt leaden. Unable to help himself, Legolas slumped back onto his bed and closed his eyes, oblivious to the dust that billowed up around him.

:0Ї0:

Out of habit, Thranduil woke early as he did every morning. However, this morning, something just didn't seem the same. Swinging his legs over the bed, he stood and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall and slipped it on. It was a chilly morning. The Elf-lord had been more susceptible to chill since he had fallen into an accepting despair. Pushing his feet into his slippers, he started across the room. There was a candle nearby and he grabbed it, not noticing the hot wax that fell onto his hand.

Exiting his chambers, he started down the corridors that wound their way towards Legolas' chambers. The door was open. Puzzled, Thranduil lingered outside the doorway for another moment before entering. He saw the light was still glowing from his son's bedroom and smiled hollowly, preparing to gaze upon the little toys that Legolas had once adored. He had even replaced the blankets of Legolas' bed with his childhood ones. It made the pain of Legolas' death easier to bear somehow, remembering him as the innocent child instead of the rebellious youth that had abandoned him. The candles burning in there burned slow, in mourning for the lost prince.

Stepping past the threshold, he entered the room and was suddenly forced to keep a hand on the doorframe to keep from falling to his knees. It was all a dream, some wonderful, wonderful dream! But he knew the minute he reached towards his son, Legolas would disappear, as he had so many other times. All the same, he could not resist and he put one trembling foot in front of the other as he entered the room.

Reaching Legolas' bedside, he watched his son's chest rise and fall rhythmically in deep, relieved slumber. Legolas' face, though peaceful, looked gaunt and aged. The mattress barely bent under his weight, and that was when Thranduil realized that Legolas was close to becoming a wraith. He had lost much weight and his clothes fit loosely around his body. He was older, so much older now and yet he had only gained four years. In spite of his expectations that Legolas would disappear, Thranduil reached out his hands to touch his son's face.

However, his hands traced the contours of Legolas' high cheek bones and felt his son's warm exhales wafting against this skin. His son was breathing on him. Phantoms did not breathe. He was about to cry his son's name when the Elf suddenly jolted away, instinctually sensing the presence of someone looming over him. He squirmed backwards for a minute and his hand clasped his father's wrist as though to ward him off. Hurt, Thranduil retreated back a few steps, pulling his wrist free. "Legolas, _ion nîn_," he whispered brokenheartedly.

He watched as Legolas eyes brimmed with tears and the younger Elf pushed himself into a sitting position. A shoulder-wracking sob shook his thin frame. "_Ada_," he murmured, tears streaming unchecked down his pale face. He threw himself against his father, burying his face into the Elder Elf's nightshirt. All that he had ever wanted to cry about bubbled up in his chest…those dark moments in Harad where he was locked in darkness…the cave where he had been tortured mercilessly…it all came back together in a jumbled collection of pain. He knew how close he had come to losing his life and it frightened him. He had been brave then but he was terrified now and he clung to the elder Elf.

Thranduil pulled his son close, realizing that this was real and his child was home, clinging to him. He could feel Legolas' rasping sobs and the moisture of the younger Elf's tears soaking through his nightshirt. "What, oh what did they do to you, _ion nîn_?"

Legolas started to pull away but his father rubbed his hands up and down his son's back soothingly, relaxing him. "Shhhh…you don't have to tell me…you are safe here."

Safe? Legolas asked himself disbelievingly. He wasn't so sure. Things just didn't seem right here and he felt like a great evil was weighing on the place, slowly putting it into suffocating bonds. Until that evil was routed out and exiled, he knew that no one was safe.

Pressing closer into his father, the younger Elf confessed, "They tortured me _Ada_, with …tools and devices…ones that I had never seen before…and Roth…Roth is hurt in the Healing Wing…"

Legolas felt his father's hands on the back of his head, stroking his hair and he tried to push away, longing to see his father's face. "Rest, my son, we will see to Roth and make sure that he turns out all right. I promise." Placing his chin on Legolas' head he murmured as though in a trance, "Oh my son, you cannot ever know how much I missed you. I thought that you were gone…do your wounds still hurt you?"

Legolas shook his head and answered softly, "No. They are fine." But he knew this was a lie. There were wounds made by no weapon and no abuse but he simply knew that they would have to remain somewhere deep inside, because if he let them go free, then he knew that he would break his father's heart. He couldn't bear that, it would defeat his purpose. He had come home to heal his father's heart not to damage it beyond repair.

The elder Elf pulled him even closer and Legolas felt slightly panicked as his airway was nearly blocked but he didn't try to pull away. Thranduil kissed him softly on the crown of his head and then ran his fingers through Legolas' long hair, only to realize that it was much shorter. "You cut your hair?" he questioned in a murmur.

Legolas laughed bitterly into his father's tunic. "No, _Ada_ that was what _they_ did."

Thranduil froze at the mention of those who had so tormented his son, but then decided that there was nothing he could do but let Legolas know that he loved him –loved him dearly, and that nothing could change that. "You never should have had to have endured any of that, Legolas."

"It was my fault, I left," Legolas' muffled voice protested from where it was buried in his father's tunic, which was now dampened by tears. His father didn't know how many times that he had wished that he was here, here and no where else, enveloped by his father's love. He wished he could tell him, but he himself had lost count.

"No, no, it wasn't. I let you go," Thranduil answered solemnly. As a parent he should have prohibited his son from leaving. "I thought things would heal if you were given time. You took so long."

Legolas smiled with relief. "You have no idea. I tried to come home for so long…we both did…"

"Shhh…" The older Elf soothed. It had been so much easier when Legolas was younger, when he had been able to carry the little Elfling on his shoulders and chase away nightmares.

Legolas felt his father pulling him in closer and then started to draw a breath. Cotton and silk pressed against his mouth as he attempted an inhale and no air came in! He tired to pull away but his father was to strong and continued to hug him close –far too close. "It will all be well, _ion nîn_, I promise," Thranduil said, not understanding why his son was pulling away from him.

Legolas had never thought that there was such a thing as being loved to death but even as his lungs begged for air he knew that there was…and he was sure that was how he would die. The battle had stolen his remaining strength and he was unable to wrench himself free. "I love you too, _Ada_," he whispered, with the remainder of the air in his lungs.

:0Ї0:

Hours later, the brothers were bordering on the Golden Wood, having travelled without rest. Aragorn pulled his horse to a halt, eyeing the forest apprehensively. What he feared most waited beneath the large canopy of _Mallorn_ boughs and he didn't feel ready to face it. As a matter of fact, he doubted that he would ever be ready. His heart felt heavy with anxiety for his friends and he wished that he knew their fates.

So lost in thought was he, that Aragorn didn't even notice when his brothers backed up their horses and stopped, flanking either side of him. Elrohir stared at his brother for a long time, while Elladan's eyes penetrated the foliage of the forest, picking out sentinel Elves perched in the branches. The sunlight of the afternoon bathed the wood in light and caused its golden leaves to shimmer. It was living up to its name.

"Estel?" Elrohir asked softly, staring into Aragorn's troubled silver eyes.

Aragorn said nothing. He wasn't listening. His mind was wrapped up in his anxiety over what he would find and what sort of welcome he would receive. Elrohir wasn't satisfied with Aragorn's unresponsive behaviour but it was understandable right now and he reluctantly allowed his brother more question-free time. Elladan had no intentions of talking to Aragorn. He thought it would be best if the man came to him, and besides: he was scared too.

The Elven sentinels posted high up in the trees permitted them deeper into the forest than expected, and Aragorn was almost thinking that they would make it to Lórien unimpeded. Elladan and Elrohir knew that was too much to hope for, especially since they and Haldir didn't entirely get along. It wasn't that they hated each other…they just…hated each other. There was no other way to describe it.

Just as the brothers were thinking this a soft, smooth voice commanded, "Hands in the air, or take an arrow!" Aragorn practically jumped out of his skin, but the twins were unimpressed. Elrohir raised a cocky brow and eyed the trees where the voice had come from, his hands remaining at his sides.

"Haldir, you cannot be serious!" He called, almost laughing.

A silvery-haired Elf jumped down from the tree, but he wasn't smirking and when he saw who it was on the ground, he waved his archers off. Surprised, Elrohir couldn't help but display an expression of open shock. Aragorn remained looking impassive. "I am sorry, follow us if you will," he said kindly, not in his tougher voice. There was no gloating in his eyes or tone. He was serious.

Elrohir eyed him darkly. "We don't need your pity!" Elladan gave his twin a sharp look, but Elrohir ignored it.

Haldir glowered at him, irritated. "That is well, because you don't have it." He had never been able to stand the twins, although Arwen was reasonable. The Elf was undecided about Aragorn, but he was beginning to see tendencies that led him to believe that the human was taking strongly after his adoptive brothers. "Come, the Lady is waiting." He beckoned them and the surrounding Elven sentinels retreated, melting back into the foliage.

"The Lady knew we were coming?" Aragorn questioned, his voice sounding lethargic and distant from the forest they walked through. Elrohir was sure that he was thinking of Arwen.

Elladan quickly shushed his brother, not wanting to seem disrespectful. "Yes, of course, brother, the Lady has her mirror."

Aragorn shuddered, as though cold. Why would he be in her mirror? Of what importance was he to her? Elrohir noticed and he put and hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically.

The brothers started to follow Haldir towards the Nath, grateful that he didn't decide to selectively reinforce the blindfolding law.

_Elessar…_

Aragorn winced on his horse and his hand sought his brow as though his head pulsed with a headache. She was in his mind, the White Lady! He closed his eyes and Haldir looked back knowingly but remained silent. Elladan and Elrohir seemed not to notice. Since they had entered the fair woods things seemed to have slowed down and a strange lethargy was overcoming their senses.

_I know what you have been through and have seen you from afar…_

Aragorn felt his cheeks flush with the humiliation of the weakness he had displayed. He wondered fleetingly if his father, or even Arwen had seen him in what he supposed was her mirror. Had she seen the trouble he had gotten Legolas into?

_Do not be afraid, Elf-Stone. It remains a secret, though sooner or later all must be told. Rivendell is failing… _

Aragorn remained motionless on his horse, unaware of his surroundings or of anything. Her voice was filling up the void in his mind and overflowing into all his thoughts, over whelming his senses.

_Glorfindel and Erestor are strong but they are not strong enough. Vilya must be wielded…and the wielder does not stir._ _Nay, he is not dead, but a sleep-like depression has taken a deep hold. I tell you this so that you may be prepared for what you shall see, and what you shall hear… _

Completely stunned over by her words and by the torrent of emotion that followed, Aragorn almost fell off his horse. This time both brothers took notice and Haldir halted not far ahead. A look of slight impatience was on his face, and he waited. Elladan grabbed Aragorn by the arm, steadying him and righting him on the animal. Elrohir just stared warningly at Haldir, daring him to comment. Haldir may have been many things, including aggravating and sometimes blatantly stubborn-stupid, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this time. Elladan and Elrohir would string him up by the nearest tree if he did not, and his sentinels would be of no help to him, that he knew. And, it was possible that somewhere deep inside, he held some sympathy for the human.

Elladan and Elrohir knew exactly what was inflicting their brother, but being Elves made it difficult to truly understand the effect on him. Galadriel was their grandmother and so they were used to her telepathy and whisperings. She was like an adoptive Grandmother to Aragorn too, but he had not met her more than once in his life. "The Lady is talking to you, isn't she Estel?" Elrohir asked in a gentle voice, eyeing the trees and not his brothers.

"She is," the ranger admitted softly, shaking his head as though to dispel her voice from his thoughts. What she had said about Elrond and about Rivendell…about his friends…it was frightening.

"What does she say?" Elladan ventured, looking across Estel and at Elrohir, trying to gauge his twin's reaction.

Aragorn opened his mouth to tell them, but then gaped like a fish out of water before snapping his jaws shut. He shook his head stubbornly. "If she wanted you to know, then she would have told you."

Not wanting to offend the Lady, the two Elves didn't prod their brother any further, but if they had not been in the Golden Wood, they would have probably wormed it out of him somehow. Aragorn knew it. He was thankful that so far they had not taken offence at his secrecy. He didn't want to keep anything from them. They were his brothers, he came to them with everything, but this was different. This was not his choice.

Haldir, who was prone to being pushy and always one to keep moving, waited until they were finished conversing. It was almost as though he knew something that they didn't, and despite his harsh words, he did feel sorry for them. He wanted to help. Either that or he was scared for them. And if none of that was correct, he must have been having an abnormally good day to have such excessive patience.

The journey through the Golden Wood couldn't have gone slow enough for Aragorn, who was terrified to face the consequences of his absence. Galadriel's words had done nothing to ease his heart, which was hammering in his chest so that he was sure all the sensitive Elves could hear it. And he felt like she was watching him, and taking notice of every flicker of his eyes and every tired sigh. He could find no pleasure in his surroundings, which even surpassed those of Rivendell in the spring season. The silver on the trees and the gold on the leaves seemed distastefully plain to his eyes and he wondered if it was because he was unworthy of their beauty.

When they reached the path to Lórien, Aragorn didn't even look up from the floor as he walked between his brothers. Galadriel didn't overlook the formalities, but they were shortened considerably, as she recognized the sorrow of her grandchildren. Their hearts were heavy and it was obvious that they needed rest and a visit with their long divided family. Maybe they would be able to wring a laugh out of Arwen. Her musical giggles had not been heard for far too long and they were sorely missed –even Haldir and his brothers were complaining.

Pulling Aragorn aside, she allowed her hand to caress his face. "Elessar, take heart. Things soon shall mend." She looked down and her long golden lashes flickered for a moment before she raised her head, smiling radiantly and yet drooping with sorrow. "I have had new clothes prepared for you, Elf-Stone. You surely do not mean to see the Lady Arwen dressed in such weather-stained attire?" Her voice held no critical tone of admonishment, only slight amusement while containing full seriousness.

Aragorn observed himself for a moment, suddenly becoming very self-conscious. "That wouldn't be the best thing, would it, My Lady?"

She smiled knowingly, watching as Aragorn frowned. "You miss Lord Elrond. He is your father, yes?"

Aragorn slipped out of formalities as he was becoming overcome with grief. He bowed his head to hide his tears but his voice squeezed off. "Yes. I would see him first above all things."

Galadriel removed her hand from his face and place it gently on his shoulder, as his mother might have done. She massaged it consolingly. "Then change before you see him. Allow your brothers the opportunity to prepare him for the meeting. He has missed all three of you greatly." Aragorn winced inwardly, fighting not to let his emotions stain his composure. He used to be the one to soften their father up, and the twins would constantly be sending him in first whenever they had managed to get themselves in some hot water. "You are growing up, Elessar." Her voice held a firm coldness to it. "You are no Elf. And you seek to take his greatest treasure. By your gain he can only suffer, yet he loves you enough that he will no hinder you. The choice is Arwen's alone and it is your choice alone whether you become who you were born to be or fall into darkness with the last of your failing race."

Aragorn's head snapped up in alarm at how easily she had laid bare his heart and soul. "That time has not come yet."

"The date is fast approaching, and with you shall go many friends. You shall never walk entirely alone." Aragorn said no more, but inside he felt a horrible guilt take a voracious bite out of his heart and swallow. Legolas had already followed him and nearly been killed, as had his brothers and dear Rothinzil. If he was to claim his destiny, it could lead to Mordor…to the Hell of Middle Earth. He couldn't allow Legolas or anyone else he loved to follow him so far.

"You won't be able to stop them, Elessar. Their love for you will override rationales," Galadriel prophesied ominously.

**TBC...Oh, ouch, gee, maybe that was not the most reader-friendly place to end it...(thinks) Nah, we'll end it here. :D **

**Please review:Grin: we love those! ;) **

**And thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter! You should be receiving responses to those tonight! **


	16. You Can't Know the Half of It

_I Will Always Return_

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

You Can't Know the Half of It

Roth placed a hand over his stitched and bandaged abdomen. The ministrations had not taken long to apply and afterwards he had used almost every trick that he knew of to escape that dratted ward. Of course there was the small matter that he had made a promise to Legolas to remain there. Well no, actually he had not promised, he had allowed Legolas to bring him there -that was all.

He wasn't the sort of Elf that was stubborn and had objections to lying on a bed doing absolutely nothing for a while –especially after a long journey and being stabbed in the abdomen. He never understood what Legolas, the twins or Aragorn had against resting in a healing ward for a time. The healers were far from insufferable if you obeyed their rules and who were they to argue with a sleeping person?

And speaking of Legolas –or rather thinking of him- he knew that the prince was bound for trouble. There was a lot that Legolas had not taken into account, namely that his father was –dare he think this -insane. Well, maybe that was putting things a little harshly, Roth amended as he leaned against a pillar for support (still being weak from his wound). Thranduil was sane, but he still was not himself.

Fire was burning his insides and he swallowed reflexively as the pain caused him to flush. He closed his eyes as he allowed the agony to wash through his body and the stone of the marble pillar beneath his trembling palm became slippery with sweat. He had not taken the pain-killing herb as he had been afraid of it dulling his senses far too much and making him drowsy. He didn't regret not taking it, but he seriously regretted tripping and getting wounded in the first place.

Shoving himself away from the pillar, he tried to force himself to walk in at least something that resembled a straight line. However, his feet felt leaden and he weaved unavoidably, almost sick with pain.

He had to find Legolas, he reminded himself, making himself think in order to avoid passing out. He was sure that the prince would have gone to his room, which was where Roth knew that he would go in Legolas' place. It was a familiar, small space that couldn't have suffered very much change.

Roth smiled at old memories of his younger years, when Legolas had first found him. He had been severely shaken at vulnerable age eighty-two and the prince had brought him home, where he had still been terrified of Thranduil and of the sentinels. Because of his fears he and Legolas had shared a room for a while, until Thranduil had the guestroom fixed up and Roth had recovered. Now of course, Thranduil was not only his king but like his father and Legolas as good as a brother, even though he treated them as the royals that they were and was proud to be a mere captain.

Knowing the way to Legolas' room even in the dark, Rothinzil stumbled towards the hallway and his friend's quarters.

It didn't take him long to reach the doorway to Legolas' room, and he stopped, noticing that it was slightly ajar. He smiled with triumph as he realized that Legolas was in there, unless Thranduil had gone in there like he had during so many sleepless nights when he was unable to think of anything else. Deciding to hope for the best, Rothinzil pushed the door open with his free hand that was not cradling his stabbed abdomen, carefully fingering the bandages through his tunic.

Thranduil smiled up at the warrior, causing Rothinzil to suddenly feel very self-conscious, as though he was intruding on some precious moment. "Rothinzil! Legolas said you were hurt! I am so glad that you are up and walking about! Thank you for bringing him home, Roth! How could I ever thank you?"

Roth just stood still, unable to even blink in his surprise. Even when he deserved praise he didn't expect it, and he looked at Legolas as though for approval. Legolas didn't move. Roth found his lips forming words but they felt unnatural and mechanical. "No thanks is required, my lord. Prince Legolas is my brother."

He had hoped Legolas would move at these words, but that was when he noticed that his friend's hands were limp at Thranduil's sides, where they had been wrapped around his father. Legolas also didn't appear to be breathing… "Legolas! My lord, he isn't breathing!" The warrior exclaimed, horrified. Roth's trembling increased as his panic and agony merged.

Thranduil looked at his son with loving, protective eyes. "No, he is simply very, very tired." He continued to clutch Legolas against his chest and Roth forced himself to remain calm, even as he realized that his friend was suffocating.

"You are holding him too tightly, my lord! He cannot breathe!" Roth knew that Thranduil was not in a listening mood and that his words were probably in vain, but he couldn't stand here and do nothing while the colour left what was visible of Legolas' face. "Please! He is dying-"

"Silence! You know not of what you speak Rothinzil! He is tired!" Thranduil defended almost angrily and certainly impatiently.

Roth's chin quivered uncertainly. He had been commanded to silence but he simply couldn't endure that. He had vowed to protect the royal family against everything by his life or death as a warrior and now Legolas was being suffocated by his father. This was the worst sort of situation imaginable and he wished that he could wake up and realize that it had all been a vivid, horrible nightmare.

However, the way his heart was labouring feverishly in his chest and his wound was flaring let him know that he was fully awake, unfortunately. Cringing as he imagined being reprimanded for the coming accusation, he begged in a quaking voice, "Please my lord, I beg you, you have to understand…you are killing him!"

How long could Legolas hold his breath? Minutes certainly, but probably two or three at most, and Rothinzil imagined that he had been holding it for that long already. Looking increasingly uneasy –one might even go so far as to say that he looked frightened –Roth approached his lords and fought with himself to take Thranduil's hand and start to ease it off Legolas.

Thranduil was not going to stand for this; he had only just gotten Legolas back, after all. He couldn't lose this control he had just regained and he couldn't release that which he had come within inches of losing forever. "Get back!" he snapped at the warrior, causing Roth to recoil, clearly upset.

Roth knew that he was going to get in trouble, maybe even arrested, but he couldn't do less. "My lord, you are mad! Your son needs air!" With that he moved forward and forcing himself to forget his place as a subservient warrior, he grabbed Legolas' arm and pulled his friend free. He hated himself as he knew that he was straining the prince's newly recovered ribs.

Thranduil was so flabbergasted by Roth's actions that at first he didn't resist and allowed Legolas to slide halfway from him. The prince's head lolled backwards, jerking slightly as his neck fully extended. His lips were a light shade of blue and his eyes were closed.

Thranduil might have actually stood up and gone so far as to choke the warrior when he noticed the unhealthy appearance of his son's far too pale face.

Roth inconspicuously backed up in a corner of Legolas' room to give the royal family their space, watching his lords nervously. He wasn't going to run, because he had done no wrong. If Thranduil wished to kill him or place him under arrest then he would accept that and act accordingly with quiet subservience. However, he sincerely hoped that Thranduil would come to his senses first, and not _afterwards_. Death was not reversible, and really he would rather not spend anytime in the dungeons.

His hand went back to hovering over his wound that he became acutely aware of as it flared up in response to the stress of the situation. He found himself shaking uncontrollably and he slid weakly down the wall, coming to sit on the floor as his legs folded beneath him. Bowing his head, he pressed his forehead against his knee and sighed dejectedly, allowing his sweat-moistened hair to hide his face like a dark curtain.

Thranduil spread Legolas out on the bed and frantically took his vital signals, panicked further by his findings. Legolas' heartbeat was steady but far too faint to be healthy. He then realized the prince's chest now rose and fell with minimal movement as his body involuntarily revived from the momentary lapse of oxygen. The blue colour of his lips was being replaced by a warm red and a light, barely noticeable shade of healthy colour was beginning to accent his son's face.

As oxygen revived the prince's body Legolas' eyes fluttered open and he blinked rapidly to adjust to his surroundings and the many flickering candles. "_Ada_?" he asked a bit hoarsely, staring up at the blurred image sitting by his head.

"Legolas, _ion nîn_…I am so sorry…I didn't mean to…" he couldn't bring himself to say "suffocate you", so his voice simply trailed off and he gingerly took his son's hand. "I think it took that to bring me back, my son. I love you, and I promise everything is going to be alright now."

Roth's head remained bowed reverently as he thanked the Valar that Legolas still lived and that he had not been too late. They had been very merciful lately, considering all the chances death had to claim either himself or Legolas, and Roth liked to make sure that any debts he had were paid and that those deserving of his respect and gratitude had it in full. His lips moved in a silent prayer because he did not trust his voice, not even in a whisper.

"Roth, come here," Thranduil beckoned to the warrior as Legolas sat up and stared questioningly at his friend. He was sure that he had sent Rothinzil to the Healing Ward and he couldn't even remember his friend coming into the room. Blinking confusedly, he decided that he really was just too tired and too weak to care much. He would talk to Roth about it later, whenever he remembered.

At the sound of his name, Roth jerked his head up and stared at his lord uncertainly. After all, Thranduil had nearly suffocated his own son. "My lord?" he questioned softly, his voice still quivering slightly from the pain his wound was causing.

"Rothinzil, I promise you I am sane now," Thranduil said, offering the warrior an encouraging smile that was meant to bolster his words. "I would never harm you or have you reprimanded for what you did. You are the most loyal of all my warriors, except for Celebalda and Caranfëa. I should have expected as much from you, and I am eternally grateful."

Roth smiled warmly and slowly raised himself from the floor, keeping his hand over the bandage and leaning on anything close enough for support. "I am glad I could be of service, my lord, but…" he hesitated before pleading, "please don't force me to make such a decision again."

Thranduil nodded, "Of course. Now," his eyes became critical of the Elf that was like his foster-son, "Legolas informed me that an orc managed to catch you and cause you some damage."

Roth looked hesitant and shook his head, "It is nothing."

Thranduil wasn't so easily convinced, after all, Legolas was his son. "You are whiter than snow and shaking like a leaf," he pointed out calmly, "As your king I can command you to come, or you can walk over under your free will and sit down so we can talk a bit and I can see what happened."

Legolas smiled weakly at the helpless expression on his friend's face. "Roth, come, let us see what the healers have done for you."

Roth finally consented and took a few steps forward before he stumbled feebly and was caught by Thranduil's outstretched arm. Legolas watched anxiously as his father lowered his friend onto the bed and supported the dark-haired Elf's back, helping Roth to sit up. Alarmed at Roth's show of blatant weakness, Legolas inched closer and held his friend's shoulder consolingly, knowing just how much pain the other Elf was in. Unlike Legolas, Roth had not had as many…opportunities to heighten his pain tolerance.

He moved to unbutton his tunic, but his hands were unstable and Thranduil brushed them aside. Opening up Roth's tunic, which was really nothing more than an undershirt at the present, he revealed the linen bandages which were dotted with red where blood had seeped through.

Thranduil didn't open the bandage, because he had seen many wounds and he knew exactly what to expect. He didn't need to see it and it was obvious that the blood was not clotting very much yet. The younger Elf's breathing hitched and he turned his head away so that his lords would not see him grit his teeth in pain and squeeze his eyes shut. It hurt so badly…

"You need to be in bed," Thranduil said firmly, frowning at the site of the younger Elf's pain.

Roth seemed uncertain and he shook his head. "No, my lord, I just need to rest and then I can help."

Thranduil's forehead creased and he stared inquisitively at the warrior. What was there to help with? "Help with what, young one? You know Helluin and the children have been sending letters. They really miss you-"

Roth looked imploringly at Legolas but when it became evident that Legolas wasn't going to say anything the warrior hung his head and muttered, "The kingdom is in disarray, my lord. There are Elves no longer loyal to you, they are hurt and feel neglected." He raised his eyes to quickly scan his liege's face and then lower them again, out of respect.

Thranduil didn't look overly surprised and he shook his head, putting an arm around Roth's shoulders. "I know, but there is no way possible that you can help. You would be fair game. No, you simply need to go and get rest. I will send for Helluin and Ilwë and his sister."

Roth smiled at the mention of seeing his family again. He missed Helluin so much that it hurt. However, he refused to be bribed and firmed his gaze, forcing himself to be completely serious. "It isn't safe for them here, my lord. The people will not listen to you. They will need to talk to someone with whom they can relate."

Thranduil sighed and removed his arm from Roth's shoulders, feeling unnerved.

"They want to follow you, my lord."

Legolas just sighed and his mouth curved down a distraught frown. "I will talk to them _Ada_, and Roth will come with me if he really wants to. It will all be well." His mind retreated back to the dead Elven prisoners he had seen lying among the leaves and debris on the forest floor. That was not going to be easily forgivable, if it ever could be.

Thranduil just pressed his son back on the bed as Roth shifted out of the way. Pulling the blankets out from beneath Legolas' light frame, the elder Elf laid them over his son and tucked the edges lovingly around him. "_Ada_, it is morning," Legolas protested tiredly, Thranduil to smile. Roth's lips curled up in slight amusement.

"You are beyond exhausted!" Thranduil said, easily keeping the younger Elf in bed with one hand. "You will sleep today," the Elvenking assured, re-tucking the blankets that Legolas had disturbed and pulled loose in his struggle to sit up.

"_Ada_, there is too much to do! I cannot afford to rest!" Legolas continued valiantly around a yawn.

Thranduil smiled, and only shook his head. It felt so good and soothing to be able to be a father to the prince again, and he actually was revelling in the opportunity to tuck Legolas under the covers. Pulling them up at the bottom of the bed, he revealed Legolas' booted feet and undid the laces before pulling the foot-gear off and setting it on the floor at the bed's foot.

Legolas relaxed into the mattress, slightly more comfortable. It felt good to sleep in his own bed again and he smiled at the ornate ceiling that was lavishly decorated with forest patterns -_his_ ceiling. Roth just smiled from where he stood, retreated into a corner, observing the homely scene with his Elven glow expanding happily at the reunion of father and son.

"_Ada_," Legolas murmured drowsily, unable to help the sleepiness drifting into his voice. "Could you do me a favor?"

Thranduil paused and nodded. "Certainly. You have only to name it, my son."

Legolas smiled and opened one bleary eye, only then realizing he had closed them in the first place. He glanced at Roth, who was standing inconspicuously in the shadow of a far corner. "Make sure that Roth is properly attended to, please? You know how insufferable he can be, the fool is selfless to a fault," he finished with a grin, closing his eyes again.

Thranduil smiled at the warrior, who suddenly became very bashful and flushed to the tips of his pointed ears. Turning back to Legolas he spoke softly to the barely conscious Elf. "Of course, _ion nîn_. You didn't think I would let him go unattended, did you?"

Legolas only murmured, "Good." He was already more than halfway lost to sleep and his coherency was bordering on non-existent.

Thranduil bent down and gently planted a kiss on Legolas' forehead, watching with parental satisfaction as the younger Elf smiled instinctively in his sleep. Running his fingers down Legolas' cheek the elder smiled and he watched as his son's face blurred through his tears that remained in eyes.

Roth had come forward now and he put a comforting hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "It is good to see him at peace again," the warrior murmured, revelling in the serenity that had seemed to blanket the room. He remembered seeing Legolas distorted by pain and terror and he was glad that Thranduil had not been forced to witness such an event. It would have broken the elder Elf, he realized with a sad inward shake of his head.

Right now all he could see were the after-effects: a thin, weakened Elf with unnaturally pronounced cheekbones and darker eyes –and shorter hair, the warrior added on a lighter note. Thranduil would never see the bloodied mess that Legolas had been or how close he had scraped with death. Smiling to himself, the warrior realized that this was one secret he felt more than grateful to keep.

"Roth," Thranduil said, turning to the warrior as he blinked back tears, "I told him I would take you to the healers, and to the healers you will go."

Roth quailed, looking around Thranduil at the clueless Legolas who lay comfortably sleeping, far away from suffering. "We can't leave him here alone! If he awakens by himself he is likely to regress back to less cheerful times, my lord! Can't the healers come here?"

Thranduil paused, considering things carefully. He normally would have dragged Roth out by his pointy ear, if that was necessary, but in this case he decided to make an exception. It would only be practical that the healers come here. First of all, the elder Elf considered, Roth could not walk all the way back to the Healing Ward and would not suffer himself to be carried, especially by his liege. Secondly, Rothinzil had a very valid point that couldn't easily be ignored: Legolas should not be left alone.

Smiling softly at the warrior, who looked absolutely miserable, Thranduil assured, "I can bet that you would love to stay here to rest with Legolas, and considering that you couldn't possibly make it to the Healing Ward without being carried, I think I can arrange for you to spend at least the first day of your recovery in here with Legolas."

Roth returned the smile and shook his head before swaying slightly, catching himself against the bedpost. "Just like old times, is it not, my lord?" His voice was weak and it was evident that his energy was draining with his slowly seeping blood.

Thranduil chuckled a bit ruefully, "Except you are not shrinking back from the sight of your own shadow." Roth looked surprised that his lord would remember everything so clearly, feeling slightly ashamed that he had ever doubted his liege's memory in the first place. "Yes, Rothinzil, I remember."

"How cunning of you, my lord," Roth said a bit wryly, unable to help himself as he collapsed into a soft, overstuffed chair and drew his knees shakily up to his chest. He was still trembling but despite his pain he looked warily at Legolas' chair, worried about soiling it with blood.

Thranduil continued to shake his head as he left; looking for some healers who could staunch the continuous bleeding of Rothinzil's wound. He felt horribly for the warrior, especially since Roth had obtained the wound bringing his son home. He felt his spirits rising and the damp sort of clinging darkness that had been seeping into his very bones departing now that Legolas was back, safely tucked in his bed.

The only thing that persistently nagged the back of his mind was that Helluin was not going to be happy. She didn't quite have Roth's reverence for him and was hardly afraid to speak her mind –how typical of a human! –and she would let him know that she did not appreciate 'her dear Elf' being wounded.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn stared at himself in the mirror as he worked to change into the more formal attire proffered by Galadriel. At least his brothers had informed him that the creature staring back at him was himself, but he wasn't so sure anyway more. He was much, much thinner than he had last seen himself and his face was much gaunter, but on the other hand, he realized as he slipped his tunic on over his undershirt, he had acquired some muscles that he had never thought he would get in his arms. He was growing up and the childish innocence that had created an aura around him up until this point was gone, and it was like nothing was separating him from the outside world.

Straightening out his clothes, Aragorn ran a hand through his still damp hair and wondered idly where Legolas was and just what was happening at this exact moment. And gentle Roth! That bumbling excuse for an Elf! Shaking his head as he settled his wavy, dark locks around his face, the ranger took one last look at himself in the mirror and turned away, shaking his head sadly.

He had thought that he had learned more about himself and what his limits were, but he had been forced to trade the person that he had always known best: his inner child. He had never thought in his wildest dreams that he would have ended up living his life so guarded. Sighing, he opened the door to the borrowed room and left, shutting it gently behind him.

The tree limbs twinkled with Elvish lights that were meant to resemble starlight and Aragorn sighed, diverting his eyes nervously to the floor. He could feel Elves watching him even if he couldn't see them and for the first time in his life he managed to find the feeling disconcerting.

"Estel, come, _Ada_ will see you now," Elrohir assured, flanking one side of his brother and hooking arms with the human. Aragorn smiled gratefully up at him. He was worried that he would have to make the walk to his father's quarters alone. "If he seems a bit …grumpier than usual it is because he just received a letter from Glorfindel."

Aragorn nodded understandingly. That was enough to turn anyone's mood upside down. Glorfindel did not write nice letters because he did not like to write and when he did write it was important. "What did the letter say?" the human ventured quietly, staring intently up at his brother as they walked.

Elrohir stopped and looked Aragorn squarely in the eyes, deciding to confide in his brother as he always had. "I cannot say as I have not read it. But Glorfindel is definitely the sort of person where no news is good news."

"You think it is about Rivendell?" the ranger whispered, his voice sinking beneath a murmur.

Elrohir was quiet for a minute, a distant look coming into his eyes. "Yes, and Erestor didn't write. He always writes the letters. It was getting to the point where we were started doubting if Glorfindel was literate."

At this news Aragorn felt himself grow a shade paler. "Does Elladan know? Where is he?"

Elrohir smiled softly but his eyes and voice conveyed nothing but quiet pain. "No, he doesn't know yet. He is resting from our journey. His wound still hurts him every now and then, I think."

"I am sorry," Aragorn apologized for what had to be the fifth time since they started on their way home.

Elrohir pulled free of his brother and gave him a questioning stare, preparing to repeat the question he had asked five times. "And what do you think that you did wrong that begs an apology of you?"

Aragorn shook his head. "We have been through this. I shouldn't have left so quickly, leaving my family in the midst of trouble."

"That may be, but we decided to come after you, because we love you. We got you back. Elladan and I already agreed that was well worth any price we had to pay."

Aragorn knew that there were no words that would do his guilt justice and no words that his brother would hear. He was grateful that his family, or his brothers at least, held him blameless but yet he would rather they scold him and treat him as they had when he was younger. He knew he had changed but what he had not counted on was the way people perceived him changing as well. Elrohir and Elladan were treating him as the adult man that he was, he realized with painful clarity. Not once on the journey home had he heard them call him "young one" even in jest, something that he never dreamed that he would miss so much or see as a form of endearment.

How would his father see him? Surely he would always be Elrond's child his little Estel...

He and Elrohir walked a little further until they reached Elrond's rooms which were secluded as though he had not been very social these past few years while in a state akin to mourning.

Elrohir suddenly stopped moving and slipped his arm free of Aragorn's, abandoning the ranger's side. Aragorn felt the warm, protecting presence of his older brother leave him and he shivered, feeling suddenly much colder and he stared at the younger twin, confused. "Are you not coming with me?" he pleaded, feeling his hands shaking nervously as sweat beads collected on his palms.

Elrohir shook his head and then smiled encouragingly. "Estel, Estel, this is something you must do alone," he explained, chiding the human lightly. "I can't fix anything between you and _Ada_, so it makes absolutely no sense for me to be there."

Before Aragorn could protest, Elrohir had opened the door; however he didn't shove Aragorn past the threshold. This was something the human had to choose to do, otherwise it would be meaningless.

Terrified to refuse entrance, Aragorn placed one foot in front of the other until he found himself on the opposite side of the door looking over his shoulder at his brother, who suddenly seemed incredibly far away. Elrohir swung the door gently shut, allowing his father and Aragorn their privacy.

The minute the door was shut Aragorn's heart started hammering in his chest and he held his breath. There was no turning back now and even though he had been longing for this moment for years he couldn't help but feel a creeping fear that turned his insides to ice and his legs to gelatine. The walls suddenly all seemed far too close to be adequate breathing space and he gasped silently.

Elrond was sitting in a chair, staring through a small window that led its onlooker out into the tree tops that glimmered with the little flickering white lights. He looked so…old…Aragorn realized, like he had never looked old before and the human felt his stomach curl up into a tight ball. And as if the showing of his age was not frightening enough he was frail and looked very unhealthy. Aragorn was sure that the slightest blow could knock him over, which was something he had never even considered possible before. His _Ada_ had always been his protector and suddenly, he felt as though things were in reverse.

"_Ada_," he asked softly, and his voice squeezed off as his throat constricted.

Elrond didn't move, and he continued to look out the window, as though he was not the least bit surprised to hear the voice he knew as well as his own calling to him. It wasn't that he had not heard Estel's voice in a long time –he had heard it always, resounding in his head and heart and leaving him no peace. This was not the first time that he had heard it echoing "_ada_". The only difference was that this time it somehow seemed so much more real and less distant. He felt as though he could turn and see Estel standing right there, watching him.

Unable to resist the temptation to look, Elrond slowly turned his head, allowing Aragorn a full look at his sorrowful face. It still was fair but with a sickly look and Aragorn's stomach went into knots.

Elrond blinked, focusing his vision on the figure –the spectre, standing in the centre of his room. The apparition had a remarkable resemblance to his Estel, but something was different, something that he couldn't place. Shaking his head though dreaming, he resumed staring blankly out of the window.

Aragorn felt something inside shatter as his father turned his face and refused to look at him. He saw recognition in his father's eyes. Elrond knew who he was, but the Elf was refusing to acknowledge him and pain worse than anything he had ever felt before bubbled up in Aragorn's chest. "_Ada_, don't you remember me? Oh, what have I done?" he finished in a moan that trailed off as he lowered his head, suppressing hot tears.

At these words Elrond turned back to his youngest son and simply stared in awe, which tightened his chest, making it impossible to breathe. In all the years the voices had haunted his dreams and waking moments they had never said that because they had not been capable of it. They were only able to repeat memories and things that he had never forgotten. This was something new…something that only Estel could truly say and his throat constricted.

"Estel?" he questioned feebly, momentarily ignoring his empty, pleading lungs. Finally drawing in a gasp, he swallowed. "I thought that you were dead."

Aragorn suddenly smiled and his entire body trembled. "No father, I am very much alive." He couldn't count the number of times that he had prayed for this and now that it was happening he didn't know what to say or do. No matter how many times he had rehearsed this moment in his mind the real event was turning out to be much different.

For seconds no one moved, and if the scenario had been frozen in ice it couldn't have been preserved better. Finally, wanting to get this over with, Aragorn stepped forwards to greet his _ada_, who still had not moved and was staring at him as though Aragorn had come back from the dead.

Suddenly Elrond shook his head and stood up with more strength than he had in a long time, silently calling Aragorn to remain where he was. Not even bothering to push his chair in, the Elf-lord circumvented the desk and quietly walked until he stood directly in front of his son. Holding his arms extended, he offered Aragorn comfort in the form of a large, warm hug.

The young human gladly accepted it, only hesitating for less than a couple of seconds. As he relaxed against his father, whom he suddenly didn't see as being frail anymore, the human realized he felt completely safe –safe in a way that he had not felt for too long a time. All the tautness in his muscles seemed to melt away, causing him no small amount of pain as he realized that they had not been relaxed for a long time. How long had he been forced to be so exceedingly suspicious, calculating and afraid?

"I tried so hard to get home, _Ada_, and Legolas too…" he didn't complete his thoughts as he buried his face in Elrond's robes. Elrond cupped the back of his head, suddenly feeling more complete than he had in all four of the uncertain years that Estel had been missing.

"I am sure that you did, _ion nîn_," he murmured sympathetically, lovingly stroking Aragorn's hair with his long fingers. He knew this moment was real and doubt even shadowed his thoughts. As he held Aragorn closer to him he felt how his son had become much thinner and how his muscles had become hard from leading a defensive and hard-pressed life.

"Oh _Ada_, you have no idea," Aragorn murmured, suddenly realizing that he had said "_Ada_" at least several times in the past few minutes. But somehow, he didn't feel the least bit ashamed and it seemed more than appropriate for the occasion so he said it once more. "I missed you so much, _Ada_."

Elrond smiled and to him it seemed like a candle had been buried deep inside of him and the flame that had all but died was flaring back to life. There was a glow he could not suppress and it seemed to be burning him from the inside out with an intolerable insistence of joy.

Aragorn turned his head so that he could breathe, setting his cheek against Elrond's shoulder, and as he did, he opened his eyes and noticed that the dim room seemed brighter, even though he knew Elrond had not moved for the past few minutes and could not possibly have lit a third candle. He smiled and closed his eyes with a gratifying peace as he realized that his father was glowing and his Elven glow that had so long been suffocated was surging outward.

Finally, after what seemed only a few seconds but in fact had been close to fifteen minutes, Elrond ventured, "What ever has happened to you, Estel?"

Aragorn blinked sleepily and hesitated too long before answering.

"Perhaps you would rather wait to talk about it?" Elrond asked softly, looking softly at the human snuggled up against him.

Aragorn shivered in his father's continued embrace as he remembered things that still haunted his dreams in the small hours of the night –the time when the weight of all that had happened became the most difficult and lonesome. "Yes, maybe later," he responded a bit stiffly.

Elrond nodded, understanding completely. Estel started to pull away and Elrond's mind suddenly raced, searching for something he could say that would keep his child close to him for even a minute longer. Aragorn had been away too long and he didn't want to feel his son leave his side again so soon.

But Estel relieved him of the situation. "_Ada_, I know about Rivendell… it's falling apart." Rivendell was within a fraction of disintegrating, or at least if what the twins and Roth had said when they first greeted each other again was true. It seemed so long ago… was there anything of Rivendell left nowadays?

Elrond stared at the wall, gathering his emotions and thoughts as best as he was able. He knew that Rivendell was in serious trouble. He could feel it and when Glorfindel had left for the hidden refuge the feeling had only increased. He had felt Vilya draining his strength and gradually pulling him under the surface of its influence and he shuddered inwardly. He was almost taking orders from the little ring now, enslaved.

But he could feel its dominion breaking apart as the despair that had clutched his heart dissolved, leaving him with a void and yet strangely fulfilled feeling.

"I know, my son, I know."

:0Ї0:

There were some things that were downright inappropriate, Glorfindel seethed inwardly with annoyance as he slumped tiredly into a chair that was set on a balcony, overlooking what was left of Rivendell. Smiling when the world was crashing down around you was one of them, and he knew all about worlds crashing. Erestor had been spending an increasing amount of time around Helinyetillë, the unlucky She-Elf healer who had imprisoned the counsellor's heart, and since then, his smiles were the only thing that was making him insufferable. Wait, Glorfindel amended thoughtfully; there was also his unnaturally cheery outlook on life.

He had always known Erestor to be a very rational and very intellectual person –he never did anything spontaneous or stupid, at least not publicly. But lately he had taken to staring at absolutely nothing and smiling in a frighteningly genuine manner.

And speaking of the Elven devil…

"Glorfindel I just heard a robin!" the counsellor declared almost happily, rushing onto the balcony in a blur.

Glorfindel decided he was too tired to argue and indulged the dark-haired Elf. "A robin you say? Intriguing."

The counsellor turned around in agitation. "You and I both know what that means!" he snarled defensively, irritated at Glorfindel's obvious sarcasm.

Taken aback by Erestor's vehemence, the golden-haired Elf raised a brow and managed to look completely startled without even trying. In the most mollifying sort of tone imaginable he soothed, "Erestor, calm yourself. It is only a bird…"

"Now you lie! Spring is here!"

"You realize that you are acting completely undignified, don't you?" Glorfindel asked calmly. "It is shameful."

"Glorfindel, we haven't had spring in close to two years!" Erestor hissed, taking a threatening step towards the other Elf. "You know what this means or else you are completely stupid!"

"Elrond is mastering that…thing," Glorfindel asserted, staring evenly at his friend. He looked at the overhang that jutted out over the balcony and noticed that the icicles, which had been long and sharp, were shortening as they dripped and wasted away in the new rays of…sunshine? Yes, there was nice, warm sunshine. He paused for a moment, revelling in it.

Erestor nodded. "It won't be long now. Things will be restored."

**THE END!**

**Yes, this is the end of this story, but it will continue in a new story after our next project. Yes, we know, the sequels are continuously broken up, but trust us; they turn out better that way. Then they aren't rushed. Plus, it is fun to try new ideas and things. **

**Thanks for all the reviews for this story ! They were awesome! You all were so encouraging and helpful! And thanks to Stacee Phelps and Marie Delcore for all their encouragement! Thanks a million mellon nins. You know how much Tin and I love you! ;) We would also like to thank** **Nyctea Scandiaca for her brilliant editing throughout this entire story! She makes an excellent beta-reader!**

**Please review this final chapter! We are on pins and needles wondering what you think of the ending! **

**And finally we would like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. :( We didn't mean for it to end up this way but writer's block is never fun and so we couldn't finish it yet. We would have posted this past Friday, but we had our first prom and then fanfiction dot net wouldn't let us log in, of course, so we decided to wait. Right now, I am exhausted, and longing for a sleep since I stayed up three hours short of a full 24, so I will leave you now! LOL Hope this chapter was worth the wait! LOL **

**The preview for our next story will be up soon. It will be called _Dementia _and might actually turn out to be rated R for violence but we aren't sure so don't qoute us on that :D **


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